Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Mike Wheeler liked to think of himself as a good friend.

He was the kind of kid who showed up the second he heard “code red” crackle through a walkie. He fought monsters from other dimensions to keep his friends safe, he was quite literally ready to jump off a cliff for them, and he always kept his promises—because friends don’t lie.

Which is why it was… somewhat of a surprise—a rude, face-smacking, gut-punching surprise—to realize that he had, for months, been a terrible friend.

And not just to anyone, but to his best friend.

When Mike actually let himself think about it—which, unfortunately, he was doing now—he could come up with examples way too easily.
Like how, after months of not seeing Will—actual months—he’d greeted him with a pathetic, half-hearted “Hey, man” at the airport.
Or how he’d spent the whole day unknowingly turning Will into the saddest third wheel alive, trailing behind him and El like a forgotten puppy.
Or the worst one: he’d somehow gone months without talking to Will. Months! As if that were normal. As if it didn’t matter.

Although—and Mike clung to this like a drowning man grabbing driftwood—that last one wasn’t entirely his fault.

He tried calling. Of course he did! But every single time, without fail, he got the busy signal. So there. He tried.

…Okay, he could have written. Letters existed. People used them—even Mike. But it didn’t feel right. That wasn’t how he and Will communicated. They talked—at school, over walkies, daily, constantly.

And he had tried letters! He really had. But every time he sat down to write, he realized he had way too much to say, and it always turned into a rambling, jumbled mess that even he couldn’t untangle afterward.

So, phone calls were the only real option, and those were off the table because the line was perpetually busy!

In hindsight, sure, he probably could’ve—should’ve—figured out that the busy signal had less to do with the Byers having an incredibly lively social life in Lenora and more to do with Mrs. Byers’ new telemarketing job. But seriously! El only ever said she “works from home.” It took Mike a while to put together what that actually meant. He wasn’t exactly a detective; that was Nancy’s thing.

So clearly, there were external forces at play—interferences beyond his control that helped trigger the slow-motion collapse of their friendship.

And Mike did apologize for his part!

They talked. He said, “Friends… best friends,” and Will smiled, and for a moment, it felt like everything was back to normal. They broke into secret facilities, dodged armed guards, fought off creatures from another dimension—the usual.

But it turned out the adrenaline rush—the constant need to move, strategize, and collectively not die—had only been holding the frayed edges of their friendship together with the cheapest, most off-brand glue imaginable. Because the moment they returned to Hawkins, and the Upside Down got shoved into a temporary cosmic timeout, everything between them just… quietly fell apart again.

Which was insane, because proximity-wise, they were closer than ever.

The Wheeler house basically turned into the Wheeler–Byers house overnight thanks to the U.S. military lockdown. With the Byers’ home miles away in Lenora, Joyce, Jonathan, and Will were now all crammed under the Wheeler roof.

After months of barely speaking, Mike and Will were suddenly housemates—sharing meals, hallways, couches. Everything.

And yet… something was very, very off.

It started on day one.

Mike had been clearing out space in his closet for Will—shoving aside old campaign binders, a stack of comics he kept promising to organize, and a hopeless knot of walkie-talkie wires—when he casually asked which side of the bed Will preferred.

But instead of giving a straightforward answer to this simple question, Will just... stared at him.

It wasn’t a confused stare or a surprised one. It was something else entirely—a tight, pinched expression, like Mike had asked something painful, like the words themselves scraped.

Then Will said he’d be bunking in the basement with Jonathan.

Which was just—

So weird!

Mike’s bedroom was bigger, warmer, and had actual sunlight. The basement was cold, drafty, permanently smelling of old carpet and dust. The pull-out couch down there couldn’t even fit both Byers brothers; one of them always wound up on the floor.

It made absolutely no sense.

But Mike, in all his infinite optimism—and denial—tried to rationalize it. Jonathan usually sneaked off to Nancy’s most nights anyway, so maybe this gave Will privacy in a seriously overcrowded house. Sure. That seemed logical. Definitely something he could brush off as normal, healthy behaviour—not the glaring red flag it obviously was.

Except... this wasn’t the only strange thing happening.

Because the weirdest part was that Will—loyal, always-up-for-a-campaign Will—was avoiding him.

And avoiding someone you live with? That takes skill. Olympic-level skill.

But somehow, Will managed it.

He started leaving early in the mornings—“helping at the donation centre,” Mrs. Byers said. Sometimes he’d vanish for entire afternoons at the library or be “busy” with some after-school art group… a thing Mike hadn’t even known existed. He was half convinced Will had founded it just so he’d have an excuse to disappear.

The only time they actually spent time together was when the whole group was around. But even then, Will kept gravitating toward Dustin and Lucas. All. The. Time. Mike couldn’t remember the last time they’d hung out just the two of them or had an actual conversation that didn’t involve the rest of the Party.

Then there was that one evening— Dustin got up to use the bathroom, and for a moment, the seat next to Will was miraculously, blessedly empty. And Lucas was across the room reading some magazine, not paying attention, which meant Will was wide open.

Mike swooped in like a hawk spotting an unsuspecting field mouse.

He plopped down right next to Will, heart racing, ready to talk—really talk —for the first time in forever—

... but Will glanced at him, and there it was again. That tight, pained expression. A flicker of something Mike couldn’t name but that hit like a punch to the ribs.

Before Mike could even open his mouth, Will turned… to Lucas. And asked about basketball.

Basketball.

Lucas launched into a whole explanation about drills and plays, and Will nodded along earnestly, as if any of it made sense to him. Will Byers—resident artist-nerd who once asked what a layup even was—was hanging onto every word.

And Mike just sat there, stunned, like someone had unplugged his brain.

So, yeah, Will was definitely avoiding him—actively and strategically. Which could only mean one thing: Mike Wheeler was not nearly as good a friend as he thought he was. And apparently, he wasn’t as good at apologizing as he’d believed either. Because clearly nothing had changed, nothing had been fixed; Will was still acting weird around him—still distant, still… pissed.

But that was fine. Mike could handle this. He’d identified the problem, which was half the battle, right? Now he just needed a plan.

A brilliant plan.

A foolproof, nothing-can-possibly-go-wrong plan.

He carefully made his way down the basement stairs, balancing an absolutely ridiculous bowl of ice cream: two generous scoops of chocolate, one scoop of vanilla, all buried under a mountain of whipped cream and a questionably artistic drizzle of chocolate sauce. In his other hand, he clutched a stack of D&D campaign notes he’d spent the last three days obsessively crafting. Maps. Lore. Dungeon layouts. Scribbled stat blocks—every piece tailored to Will’s tastes. He’d even practiced Dungeon Master voices in the bathroom mirror like some kind of deranged theatre kid.

This was it.

Operation Fix-My-Best-Friend was officially underway. Ice cream as a peace offering. D&D as bait. The plan was simple: lure Will into a little game—just the two of them today, before calling Dustin and Lucas to play tomorrow—and once Will was rolling dice, laughing, and calling Mike’s campaign design “actually pretty good,” everything would slide back into place. Back to normal. Back to them.

It was genius.

Or at least it would’ve been, if not for one small, unexpected detail.

“—and I just don’t like seeing you like this.”

Jonathan’s voice floated up from the basement, making Mike freeze mid-step, one foot awkwardly suspended in the air. The bowl of ice cream wobbled dangerously, chocolate sauce sliding menacingly toward the edge.

Crap. Jonathan was here.

Mike had not factored Jonathan into the plan.

Should he interrupt? Leave? Stay? No—he should back up and try again later; they were obviously having some brotherly heart-to-heart… but that meant the ice cream would melt. Damn it.

Will murmured something too quiet to catch. Mike leaned in without meaning to.

“It’s not nothing, and it’s not okay, Will!” Jonathan sounded genuinely frustrated. “Hearing you say that just makes me sad. God, you don’t even know… being in love isn’t supposed to feel like this.”

Mike’s brain short-circuited.

Being in—

In love?

Who? Will?

Will… in love?

He lost his balance and stumbled the rest of the way down the step, landing awkwardly on his feet. The bowl tilted dangerously again, and he jerked it upright with a tiny squeak he prayed neither Byers brother heard.

Jonathan kept going, his voice tight with emotion.

“It’s not supposed to feel this awful or make you miserable all the time.”

“It doesn’t make me miserable all the time,” Will shot back—but his voice was thin, like even he didn’t believe it.

“Yes, it does,” Jonathan said, frustration now tangled with worry. “And it’s not just me who’s noticed it getting worse. Mom has picked up on it too. She asked me to check in on you. She thinks it’s because of… everything that’s happened with, you know, the Upside Down. Not because—”

“Oh, so Mom sent you down here to give me this pep talk, is that it?” Will’s voice sharpened. “Because I don’t need her worrying, and I don’t need you to either. I’m handling this.”

“No, you’re not!” Jonathan shot back. “You’re hurting, and I can’t just stand by and do nothing, Will. You’re my brother. I want you to be happy — and you won’t be if you keep going like this...”

Mike stood frozen on the stairs, as if his shoes had fused to the wood. His heart pounded so hard it vibrated through his ribs.

He should leave. He absolutely should turn around and walk away…

Then Will spoke—so small, so heartbreakingly quiet that Mike barely caught it.

“You know… I’m starting to regret ever telling you about this. I should’ve just kept it to myself. I knew you’d try to push me to move on, to be normal…”

“Come on, Will, don’t say that.” Jonathan’s voice trembled—cracked—something Mike had never heard before. “You know that’s not what I mean. It’s good that you told me. I’m glad you told me. And there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. The only reason I want you to move on is because I can see what it’s doing to you… how much you’re hurting.”

There was a rustle—someone shifting closer.

“You said it yourself,” Jonathan went on more softly, “that it’s completely one-sided and hopeless. So, I just… I don’t understand why you keep torturing yourself.”

His voice gentled into something raw, tender.

“You deserve to experience love, Will. Real love. With someone who truly loves you back. Someone who sees you for who you are—every part of you. The way it should be. And that chance won’t exist if you don’t first let go of—”

“Please. Stop.”

Will’s voice cracked on the last word. And something inside Mike cracked with it. His eyes stung, heat pooling at the corners.

More quiet shuffling—Jonathan probably pulling Will into a hug. Soft, muffled whispers followed, too faint to understand.

Mike didn’t even realize he was moving until he found himself stumbling backward up the steps. He reached the top, closed the door quietly behind him, and leaned against it as though it were the only thing keeping him upright.

His lungs felt too small. His heartbeat too loud.

Will... In love... Hurting... Crying...

Mike slid down the door, knees drawn up, his campaign notes crumpled in his shaking hand. He didn’t just feel like a crappy friend anymore—he felt like an absolute asshole.

God. He’d really thought this was all about him.

All that time—the distance, the avoidance, the self-imposed exile in the basement—he’d genuinely believed Will was upset with him.

He thought Will was pulling away out of spite, or leftover annoyance, or some unresolved tension from the disaster that was California.

He’d been walking around thinking, Wow, guess Will’s still mad at me for ignoring him.

Like an idiot.

He hadn’t even noticed his best friend was heartbroken. He didn’t even know Will had someone to be heartbroken over. Will hadn’t told him anything. His best friend—the person he used to tell everything—didn’t even feel comfortable telling him he was in love with someone. Hadn’t even hinted at it.

Apparently, Mike wasn’t the person Will went to anymore…

A sharp wave of nausea twisted through his stomach as he stumbled into the kitchen, barely aware of his surroundings. He set the bowl of ice cream on the counter, hands shaking so badly it took several tries to pry off the lid. Then, with one frustrated sweep, he tossed the entire stack of D&D notes into the trash—maps fluttering, scribbled pages scattering like sad, disappointing confetti.

Of course he’d thought a game would fix everything. Of course he’d thought ice cream would magically make things better.

Stupid. So unbelievably stupid!

He dragged both hands through his hair, breaths coming in tight, uneven bursts. Will’s voice—those fragile, splintered words, “Please. Stop.”—looped through his mind on repeat, each echo slicing deeper.

Every time he blinked, he saw it: Will curled against Jonathan, crying, shoulders shaking. The image tore through Mike like needles driven under his ribs.

How could someone do that to Will? Soft-hearted, gentle, thoughtful Will—the boy who remembered everyone’s birthdays, who noticed when people were sad before they noticed themselves, who drew the things he loved because words never felt big enough. Who wouldn’t want him? Who wouldn’t love him back?

Mike’s fists curled, helpless and burning. Will was the kindest person he knew—the most loyal, the most patient, the most… Will.

And this girl—the girl Will had fallen for—didn’t see it? Didn’t realize how unbelievably lucky she was to have Will Byers fall for her? To be looked at with those big, earnest eyes that made you feel like you were the only person in the world?

A fire lit in Mike’s chest—anger, protectiveness, and something else he couldn’t name swirling together like a chemical reaction ready to blow.

Fine. If this girl was too blind, too stupid, too completely clueless to appreciate Will Byers—if she couldn’t love him the way he deserved—then Mike would set her straight. He would find this heartless idiot and tell her exactly what Will was worth.

He would make her see. If she couldn’t realize how lucky she was, then Mike would go find her and freaking tell her!

Figuring out the first clue to who was potentially breaking his best friend’s heart turned out to be easier than Mike expected.

Once he actually thought it through, the signs weren’t just there—they were screaming at him. They were flashing in neon, complete with giant blinking arrows pointing to a sign that said: ‘HEY MIKE, PAY ATTENTION!’

Will’s whole vibe had shifted the moment he moved to Lenora. Mike had arrived in California assuming Will was moody because of him—because of whatever awkward, festering tension they’d let build for months.
But maybe it wasn’t that at all.

Maybe it had been heartbreak—slow, quiet, and tucked behind Will’s tight smiles and too-bright eyes.

And then there was El’s letter. She had literally written that Will was probably painting something for someone. That he was acting weird because of someone. A girl. And Mike, in a breathtaking display of obliviousness, had glossed over that detail completely. He hadn’t even asked a single follow-up question.

Clearly, Will had fallen for some mystery girl in Lenora. And now, thanks to the military lockdown, they were stuck apart—with no phone calls, no letters, nothing. Everything was being monitored. Of course, Will wouldn’t risk putting someone he cared about in danger. It made perfect sense that his heart would be quietly breaking over a girl he couldn’t reach on the other side of a restricted town.

And honestly? That made way more sense than the alternative—the absurd notion that some girl just didn’t like Will back.

Because that idea? Ridiculous. Impossible.

If Will was heartbroken, it had to be because of circumstances beyond his control. External factors. Forces of fate. Or, in this case, the U.S. military.

Yes. That had to be it. Everything suddenly clicked into place with almost painful clarity.

Still, Mike knew he couldn’t just sit around doing nothing. Doing nothing was exactly how everything had spiralled off the rails in the first place. If he actually wanted to fix this—if he wanted to be a decent friend for once—he needed intel. He needed a profile of this mystery girl so he could figure out the best way to help.

And the only person who might have any answers was El.

The problem was…

A loud, explosive BANG! tore through the woods just as Mike stepped up to the cabin. He froze mid-step, every molecule in his body slamming to a halt.

The cabin door burst open, slamming against the wall as Hopper barrelled out, shotgun raised and ready.

Mike made a noise that was somewhere between a yelp and a dying rodent and immediately threw both hands in the air.

“DON’T SHOOT! PLEASE DON’T SHOOT! IT’S JUST ME!” he squeaked, voice cracking in at least three places.

“What the hell are you doing here, Wheeler?!” Hopper barked, not lowering the gun even after very clearly confirming it was, in fact, Mike.

“I—I needed to talk to El,” Mike stammered, still stuck in that humiliating high-pitched register.

“What part of ‘only in case of emergency’ didn’t you understand?” Hopper snapped, one eyebrow twitching dangerously.

“I… it is an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

“It’s…” Mike swallowed hard. “It’s a private emergency.”

Hopper stared at him. Mike stared back, sweating so much his bangs were plastered to his forehead.

For a long, uncomfortable stretch of time, Mike was pretty sure Hopper was genuinely debating whether shooting him in the leg would be an appropriate teaching moment.

Then Hopper let out a massive, weary sigh—the kind that said he regretted every life choice that had led him to this exact situation. He glared up at the sky like it had personally betrayed him, muttered something that was definitely a curse, and finally lowered the gun.

He jabbed a thick finger at Mike. “One of these days, Wheeler. One of these days.”

With that ominous promise hanging in the air, Hopper stomped back inside.

Mike exhaled shakily, lowering his hands inch by inch in case Hopper suddenly changed his mind and decided to test the shotgun’s aim after all.

Okay. That had gone… fine. Fine-ish. Fine, if you squinted really hard.

He followed Hopper inside. The cabin was warm and dim, lit by a few scattered lamps and cluttered with mismatched furniture that somehow made it feel cozy. El sat cross-legged on the couch, a book in her lap, and her head snapped up the moment Mike stumbled in.

“Mike? What are you doing here?” El asked, surprised, but definitely not unhappy to see him.

Before he could answer, Hopper bulldozed past, still muttering under his breath—something about kids, boundaries, and terrible choices—every word dripping with exasperation.

But then he stopped beside the couch and rested a massive hand on El’s shoulder. She leaned into him without hesitation, they exchanged a few quiet words, and somehow all the steam drained out of Hopper in seconds.

El closed her book with a soft thump and stood. She walked over to Mike with a warm smile, reaching for his hand and twining their fingers like it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

“Come on,” she said, giving him a gentle tug toward the hallway.

Mike blinked, helpless to do anything but follow. Apparently, his legs had decided El could pilot whatever awkward disaster he was walking into.

They had just stepped into her room when Hopper’s voice bellowed down the hallway: “THREE INCHES!”

El rolled her eyes, the picture of long-suffering patience, but still nudged the door open a very measured three inches before turning back to Mike.

A quiet, delicate tension settled between them—not anger, not awkwardness exactly, but that strange, delicate energy that had been lingering lately, as if they were two magnets still deciding whether to pull together or repel.

Mike cleared his throat. “Your hair looks nice.”

El’s smile brightened instantly. She brushed her fingers through her dark curls, now long enough to reach her chin.

“Thanks,” she said. “I want to see how long I can grow it this time before some mad scientist decides to shave it off again.”

Mike laughed, some of the stiffness between them easing.

She tucked a curl behind her ear, her expression softening. “So,” she asked gently, searching his face, “what are you doing here, Mike?”

“I… I needed to talk to you about something.”

El’s brows drew together, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. “But… we’re on a break, right? I thought that meant no talking?”

Right. The break.

He’d almost managed to forget about it—or, more accurately, he’d been trying really hard not to think about it. They’d agreed to it so easily, almost suspiciously easily, without either of them putting up a fight.
And it had seemed practical at the time. Smart, even.
Between government agents, near-death experiences, and interdimensional monsters, “teen relationship drama” felt like the one thing they absolutely didn’t need.

“Um… I thought it just meant we’re not supposed to, like… date,” Mike said, wincing at his own wording. “But we can still talk to each other… right?”

El blinked. Tilted her head. “How would I know? I’ve never been on a break.”

“It was your idea!” he blurted, offended on principle.

“Max told me about it once,” El muttered, rubbing her thumb along the seam of her sleeve. “I don’t really know… and I can’t ask her…” Her voice thinned and broke off.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “It sucks that we can’t talk to her. She’s… um…” He shifted his weight, arms crossing and uncrossing like that might help him find the right words. “She’s still at the hospital. You know that—obviously you know that—and we’d tell you if anything changed. Lucas visits her all the time. We all do. But mostly Lucas. She’s just… sleeping.”

El’s face crumpled in a way that made her look smaller, younger—a version of her Mike hadn’t really seen since the early days. “I wish I could visit her.”

“Hey,” Mike said, forcing a smile he hoped didn’t look as flimsy as it felt, “I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. And when she does… she can visit you.”

He had absolutely no idea if that was true. But he said it anyway.

El’s expression eased a little. “Thanks, Mike.”

“Yeah, so, um… anyway…” He exhaled, pushing through the awkward knot of emotions. “Until Max wakes up and can actually explain the rules… can we just assume people on a break can still talk?”

El cracked a tiny smile. “Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Mike practically collapsed onto her bed with relief.

“Okay, great, awesome, perfect—because I have, like… a situation. And you’re probably the only person on earth who can help me right now.”

El sat beside him immediately, posture straight and brows pinched in concern—as if she were bracing for the latest apocalypse.
Which, honestly, was fair. He usually only showed up with apocalyptic news.

“It’s nothing to do with—y’know.” Mike waved vaguely at the ceiling. “Vecna, the Upside Down, supernatural doom… whatever. This is more… mundane. Normal-people stuff.”

El’s frown deepened, like that was somehow more alarming.

“What is it?” she asked.

And before he could stop himself—before he could form a single coherent thought—Mike blurted out:

“Do you know if Will has a girlfriend?”

El blinked once. Twice. A third time.
“…What?”

Heat rushed to Mike’s face. “I mean—not right now obviously—but like… back in Lenora? At school? You mentioned something about a girl once, and I figured… if he was seeing someone, you’d probably know.”

“He… didn’t say anything about any girls,” she said slowly. “I just assumed he was painting something for a girl because he was working really hard on it—that’s why I wrote that. But I didn’t actually know. I saw him with some girls at school, but… he didn’t seem interested. He kept trying to get away from them, actually.”

“Really?” Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “But that kind of tracks! If he had a girlfriend, he’d avoid attention from other girls... Right? That makes sense?”

El stared at him very carefully—Hopper-level suspicious.

“Sure, Mike,” she said cautiously. “But… why are you suddenly so curious about whether Will had a girlfriend in Lenora?”

Mike opened his mouth. Then shut it.
He couldn’t tell her. He definitely couldn’t tell her.
It wasn’t his secret to share. It wasn’t even his secret to know. He’d overheard it while holding melting ice cream like an absolute idiot.

“No reason,” he said finally.

El looked at him like he’d grown a second head. A second, stupider head.

“Mike… you came all the way here—even with Hop telling you not to—just to ask if Will has a girlfriend… for no reason?”

“It sounds stupid when you say it.”

“…It looks stupid when you do it,” she said honestly—not even mean, just very El, and Mike let out a strangled half-laugh.

“I missed this,” he admitted helplessly.

El’s brows pulled together again, but softer this time.

“Is that why you really came here?” she asked quietly.

“What? No! Of course not! I didn’t even miss, like... us until just now—!” Mike’s voice pitched embarrassingly high, and he immediately regretted every word.  

Silence settled between them, heavy and tense. Mike shifted awkwardly on her bed, suddenly unable to find a comfortable position.  

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he rushed out. “I just—of course I missed you, I mean—you’re my… paused girlfriend.”

El blinked. “Paused… girlfriend?”

“Is that… not what you call it?”

“I don’t think so?”

He winced. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Still figuring this out.”

She gave a tiny shrug. “Me too.”

He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth felt. “Um… did you? I mean—did you miss us?” he blurted, the question slipping out before he could think twice.

El’s expression softened. “I… I missed you, Mike.”

He blinked, a tight knot forming in his chest. “That’s… um. That’s not exactly— It’s not quite the same, I think.”

El’s shoulders tensed. She drew her knees up, folding herself cross-legged as her gaze dropped to her lap. Her fingers found the ends of her sleeves, twisting and untwisting the fabric like she wanted something solid to hold onto.

“Sorry,” Mike said quickly, hands hovering helplessly. “I didn’t mean—I didn’t come here to, like, start anything. I know we said we’d take time to figure things out, and I’m not trying to push you or whatever, I just—”

“And we did,” El cut in, still not meeting his eyes. “It’s been some time, Mike.”

“Yeah…” He rolled a loose thread from her blanket between his fingers, then let it unravel again. “So… did you figure things out?”

El hesitated before looking up, a small wrinkle forming between her brows. “I think so.”

“And, um… do you… want to keep doing this? Us?”

El pressed her lips together, tension gathering in the line of her shoulders. “...Do you?”

“I asked first,” Mike said, a little too quickly.

“But I want to hear you first,” she countered, equally stubborn.

He let out a shaky laugh. God, they were really just playing a game of chicken at this point, huh? Maybe that was why he had been avoiding this conversation—because as soon as they started talking... it would be over, wouldn't it?

Images flooded him all at once—everything they’d survived together. Monsters. Labs. Other dimensions. Losing each other and finding each other over and over. Trying so hard to build something normal on top of something that had never been normal in the first place.

Letting go of “boyfriend and girlfriend” felt wrong. Disloyal, even.

...But clinging to it felt worse. Like squeezing a shape that no longer fit, pretending the edges weren’t cutting into them.

Maybe they’d been doing that for a while—holding onto the last familiar piece of their world while everything else burned and cracked around them. Holding on long after those labels stopped fitting and long after they started to hurt.

And it was exhausting.

He could see it in her too—in the tired slope of her shoulders, the soft sag in her expression. She was just as worn out as he was.

“I… I think I'm ready to let go, actually,” he said finally, quietly. “Of being boyfriend and girlfriend. If... if that’s okay?”

Her shoulders loosened instantly. Relief washed over her in a gentle wave, and something in Mike’s chest unwound with it—warm and achy, like finally exhaling after holding his breath for far too long.

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I think… I think that would be better.”

She toyed with her fingers for a moment before continuing, her voice small but bright around the edges.

“You know, Max once told me that I should figure out who I am outside of you. I thought I got it back then, but… I think I still need to work on that. I think I still have a lot to learn.”

She glanced down again, shy but excited. “I’ve been reading more books lately. All different kinds. And there are things I want to try. Hop said that when everything calms down, we could take a family trip. Maybe camping or a road trip with lots of stops.”

Her smile grew, soft and genuine. “I want to do fun things—like stopping at weird roadside diners, or sticking my hands in fountains, or taking pictures with these giant statues. And I want to try all the snacks. And maybe… maybe swim in the ocean.” Her eyes went wide, earnest. “There are so many fish under the water, Mike.”

The way she said it—with that same innocent wonder she’d had the first time she saw a pull-out chair, or tried Eggos—hit Mike with a sudden warmth. He had the overwhelming urge to hug her. Not kiss her; just hold her.

“And I know we could do those things together,” she rushed to add, sitting up straighter. “I’d like to do them with you someday, too. With everyone. You, Will, Dustin, Lucas… Max.” Her voice softened on Max’s name. “But for now… I think I’d rather it just be me.”

She looked at him shyly, as if expecting him to be upset.

For a long moment, he just stared at her—struck by the awe he always felt in her presence. After everything—the labs, the monsters, the burdens no one their age should have to bear—she was still so... innocent. She still refused to let the darkest parts of her life take anything from her. She was still kind. Still hopeful... Still El.

“I love you, El,” he said finally, quiet but certain. “I wasn’t lying when I told you that. But… maybe it’s different now. For both of us. And that’s okay. I know things have been awkward, but I just— I don’t really know how to describe it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks heating. “Remember when we were kids? I couldn’t figure out what to call us? You were… more than a friend, but not a sibling. The only word left was ‘girlfriend.’ And for a while that fit, but now… I don’t know what to call us again.”

He took a breath and met her eyes. “You mean so much to me, El.”

Her eyes glistened, tears catching the light as she reached for his hand, squeezing it like an anchor.

“You mean so much to me too, Mike,” she whispered. “But… when I think of you as my boyfriend now… it makes my stomach turn.”

A startled, watery laugh escaped him. “Wow. Yeah, that’s… really, really not good.”

“So… what are we now?” she asked.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted, helpless.

El drew a shaky breath, tears welling. “Friends?”

A small, cracked smile tugged at Mike’s lips. “Friends, but like… extra special friends, right?”

Her breath hitched into a laugh. “Extra special friends.”

He didn’t hesitate this time. He leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. She melted into him instantly. Months of tension and pressure seeped out of his chest in one long, quiet exhale as she wrapped her arms around him.

And this long, quiet hug felt less like holding on and more like finally letting go.

No expectations. No fear of messing up. No trying to force something that wasn’t working.

Just Mike and El.

Just two kids who loved each other—even if they weren’t in love anymore.

And yeah, this wasn't why he’d come here today—but somehow, it was exactly what he needed...

Then the bedroom door slammed open so hard both of them jolted, practically launching apart in shock. Hopper filled the doorway, huge and scowling, arms crossed like an angry redwood tree.

“Alright, enough of this! Make-out session’s over. It’s late, and Mike needs to head home.”

El groaned. “We weren’t making out. We just broke up.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, keep saying that, I’ll pretend to believe it and we all—” Hopper froze mid‑rant. His eyebrows shot up so fast Mike swore he heard a sound. “You two what?”

“Broke up,” El said simply. “Just now.”

Hopper looked between them like he was waiting for something to explode. “And… we’re all good with that? No hard feelings? Wheeler's not gonna cry?”

Mike shot him an offended glare, which Hopper, naturally, ignored. El let out a tiny laugh.

“No, it’s okay,” she said. “It’s actually… better.” She glanced at Mike with a small, warm smile.

Hopper lit up. Lit up. The man looked delighted. Radiant. Like someone had just told him Vecna died of natural causes.

“Oh! Well then, don’t mind me,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Take all the time you need. Here—let me give you some privacy.” He reached for the door. “Mike, you’re staying for dinner?”

Mike blinked. “Um—”

“You’re staying for dinner,” Hopper insisted, nodding decisively. “We’re having triple-decker Eggos with ice cream.”

El’s face brightened. “Really? You didn’t tell me that. What’s the occasion?”

Hopper shrugged, his grin stretching wider than Mike had ever seen. “Does there need to be an occasion, kid? Can’t we just take a moment every now and then to celebrate the simple fact that sometimes life is just… good?”

He left the room humming — humming — and shut the door with theatrical flourish.

Mike stared at the closed door, scandalized. “What the hell? I thought he liked me now. Why is he so happy about this?”

“He does like you,” El assured him, amused. “He’s just being Hopper.”

Mike scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well, joke’s on him. I was a great boyfriend. Just wait until he meets your new boyfriend—then he’ll realize how good he had it with me.”

El snorted. “Mike, we broke up minutes ago. And who says I’m even getting a new boyfriend?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Of course you will. You’re amazing. You’re—” He held up his fingers, ticking them off: “You’re brave. And funny. You care about people so much it’s kind of ridiculous. You make everyone feel safe just by existing. And—” he sighed, “—you’re literally a superhero. You’re impossible not to love. Some guy’s gonna hang out with you for like five minutes and fall madly—”

The sentence crashed to a stop inside his mouth.

Because something clicked.

Will being in love with a girl.

Hopelessly.

Painfully.

Jonathan telling Mike that Will should move on.

Will avoiding Mike.

Avoiding Mike specifically.

The painting. That painting for some “girl” in Lenora.

I just assumed he was painting something for a girl because he was working really hard on it.

El commissioned it, Mike.  

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh god.

Mike’s blood went cold, then hot, then cold again.

Oh god oh god oh god oh god—

Was Will in love with El?

The thought had been gnawing at Mike ever since it first sucker‑punched him back at Hopper’s cabin. It sat in his stomach like a brick of dread—one that the five Eggos Hopper insisted on “celebratory‑feeding” him absolutely hadn’t helped.

Mike wasn’t just spiralling. He was plummeting. Full freefall. No parachute. Brain on fire. Thoughts ricocheting around his skull so loudly he half expected to hear them pinging like trapped pinballs.

Oh god oh god—what if Will had been in love with El this entire time? What if Mike had been stomping on his heart for years without even realizing? What if Will hated him now? What if that’s why he’d been avoiding him? What if—

“Hey, Mike!”

Mike jolted, nearly sending the popcorn bowl flying off his lap.

“Wha—?” he croaked, blinking like someone had unplugged and plugged him back in.

Lucas groaned. “Dude. The popcorn. Hand over the damn popcorn.”

Mike stared down at the bowl like he’d never seen popcorn before in his life, then silently handed it over.

Right. They were watching a movie. Just him, Lucas, Dustin… and Will.

A normal movie night.

Except if someone asked Mike what movie they were watching, he would not—could not—answer. It could’ve been a rom‑com. A war film. A nature documentary. A two‑hour lecture on tax law. He had no idea.

Because he wasn’t watching the screen. He was watching Will.

Well—not watching exactly. More like sneaking a glance every three seconds like some kind of cowardly meerkat.

Will was on the other couch, next to Dustin. Not next to Mike.

Because Will didn’t want to sit next to Mike anymore...
Because Will still thought Mike and El were together...
Because Will was in love with El and heartbroken and avoiding him...
Because everything was terrible and Mike was going to die right here on this couch!

Mike squeezed his eyes shut, as if darkness would magically mute every anxious thought racing through his mind.

How had everything spiralled out of control like this?  

Sure, he’d noticed Will and El getting closer. When they found her, El had hugged Will so tight Mike nearly lost circulation just watching it. But he’d assumed—obviously—that it was a family thing. They were basically siblings now, right? Kind of siblings. Sort of siblings. Sibling-ish.

The Byers were El’s family now. And Hopper was basically her dad. And Hopper and Joyce were together—like, together together. There was absolutely going to be a wedding as soon as the universe stopped trying to kill them for five consecutive minutes. And once that happened, Will and El would be… well, officially brother and sister—  

Oh god.

What if that was why Will had been feeling even more miserable lately?  

Not because Mike was dating El, but because Will didn’t want to be her brother. Because he didn’t see her as a sister at all. Because he was in love—

Oh god oh god oh god.

“Dude, you okay? You look like you’re about to hurl,” Lucas said, leaning over with a frown.

Unfortunately, that got not just Mike’s attention—but Dustin’s and Will’s too. Will’s head snapped toward him instantly, concern washing over his face at once.

Which—of course—just made Mike’s stomach flip even harder.

Because Will was worried about him. Of course he was, even though he still thought Mike was dating the girl Will was hopelessly in love with. That was just who he was. Will had always been the most endlessly, quietly good person in Mike's life.

And it was so, so wrong, so unfair—like, cosmically unfair—that Will, of all people, would end up caught in some hopelessly, impossibly messy love like that. It made Mike want to crawl across the living room floor and wrap him in a blanket the way he used to when Will had nightmares, whispering that everything was okay, that Mike would figure this out, he would fix this—

“Dude! Seriously, you’re starting to freak us out.” Lucas waved a hand aggressively in front of Mike’s face. “What is going on with you?”

Mike blinked rapidly. Panic was rising like a tidal wave. He couldn’t tell them the truth—not even a fraction of the truth. So, he latched onto the first escape hatch that popped into his brain.

“I broke up with El,” he blurted. “Or she broke up with me. We broke up with each other. We’re… broken up.”

All three of them froze, staring at him as if they couldn't believe what they were hearing. Mike stared back, blinking. Was it really that shocking? He thought it was painfully, humiliatingly obvious that his relationship with El had been running on fumes for months.

“Wait—wait, hold on,” Dustin said, eyebrows launching toward his hairline. “Like… actually broken up? Or is this like that time she dumped your ass?”

“Dustin!” Lucas snapped, punching him in the arm.

“What? I’m just assessing the seriousness of the situation!”

Mike dragged both hands over his face, rubbing at his temples like he could massage the headache away. “We broke up. For real.”

Dustin’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Damn. That’s… yeah, that’s serious.” His voice softened. “How are you—”

But Mike barely heard him. He could barely hear Lucas and Dustin’s words, their attempts to comfort him fading into the background. His attention had zoomed in, laser-focused, on Will.

And Will’s expression… God, it was complicated. Concern, confusion, something uncertain—and then something else. Something small and bright. Fuck, that was a hopeful expression, wasn’t it? A flickering, terrifying little spark of it?

For a moment, Will looked at him, really looked at him, and Mike could’ve sworn there was a warmth in those eyes. Longing, even.

Then Will dropped his gaze. Shame—or guilt?—flashed across his face, snuffing that warmth out in an instant. His shoulders curled in on themselves, dimming him like someone hitting a switch. The hope faded as quickly as a candle snuffed out.

Because even though Mike and El had broken up...

El was still going to be Will’s sister soon...
And Will didn’t want her to be his sister...
Because he didn’t think of her like a sister at all...
Because he was in love—
Oh god oh god oh god.

“…and we’ll grab all the snacks you want, then we’ll stay here all night to binge-watch your favourite movies and play all the games you can handle, sound good?” Lucas’s voice droned nearby.

Mike nodded numbly.

“I just gotta check with my mom,” Dustin added. "She's been extra paranoid since the military took over the town and put us in the lockdown.”

Lucas rolled his eyes. “Yeah, wonder why. Will, can you ask Jonathan to bunk with Nancy tonight?”

Will jolted, like someone had snapped fingers in front of his face. “Huh? Oh… yeah, I can do that. You guys go ahead and get the food and movies; I’ll catch up in a few hours.”

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked.

Will sighed, already turning toward the door. “I’m just going to check on El…”

“No!”

Mike shot to his feet, the word tearing out of him before he could stop it.

All three of them jumped at the outburst, and Mike shuffled awkwardly under their surprised stares. “I mean … why would you do that?”

Will turned fully toward him, and for one small, selfish second, Mike felt a dizzy sense of victory: Will’s full attention after days of fleeting glances and quick retreats.

Except… Will was looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Because you guys broke up,” Will said, as if it were obvious. “And she probably needs someone to talk to.”

“But why does it have to be you?” Mike blurted, panic creeping in.

Will’s brow furrowed. “Who else? Max is in the hospital, my mom’s working late, and—no offense—but Hopper wasn’t exactly your biggest fan, so he’s probably not much help.”

“Then let Dustin go!” Mike practically begged.

Dustin stared at him deadpan. “Me?”

Fair point. Mike amended quickly. “Or—or Lucas. Why not let one of them go?”

Will glanced at Lucas and Dustin. Their expressions matched perfectly: confusion, with a heavy side of what the hell is wrong with him?

“Because… she’s my sister,” Will said slowly, like he wasn’t sure Mike spoke English anymore.

“Exactly!” Mike exclaimed. Then froze. “…Wait. What?”

“She’s my sister, Mike,” Will repeated, firmer this time. “I know you’re my friend, but she’s my family. If that makes you uncomfortable because you two broke up, well… you’ll just have to get over it.”

“You… you think of her as your sister? Like… really? Like… that’s really how you feel about her?” Mike asked, his voice tight as he emphasized every word.

Will let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Yes, Mike. I see her as my sister. My mom basically adopted her, we lived like siblings for over a year, and now that Hopper’s dating my mom… I think I have every right to call myself her brother, don’t you think?”

And he said the word brother like he was proud of it, like he wanted it to stick; as though that title was all he'd ever wanted to be to El. No guilt, no longing, no heartbreak—none of the things Mike had tormented himself over were there.

He only continued to look at Mike like Mike was an idiot…

And Mike felt a wave of relief so intense he nearly toppled over. He sank back onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands.

“Thank… fucking… god,” he mumbled, letting the tension bleed out in ragged breaths.

Will wasn’t pining after El...

Will wasn't torturing himself over El...

Will wasn’t in love with El...

Mike barely registered Dustin muttering, “…maybe instead of Family Video we should take him to a hospital,” until a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

His head snapped up, eyes widening. It was Will—crouched in front of him, so close that Mike could catch the faint scent of whatever he used in his hair, the same smell he always noticed whenever he hugged Will, and it had been so long since he’d been this close, and damn, he had missed it.

His heart started hammering as he blinked, staring at Will in a bit of a daze.

 “Uh… you okay?” Will’s voice was gentle, careful, threaded with concern—soft enough to calm the panic still buzzing in his chest.

Mike swallowed, his throat tight. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I just… had a moment.”

Will’s hand stayed on his shoulder, warm and grounding. God, it felt nice. Really nice. Was he that starved for contact—from this Will, the one who wasn’t avoiding him, the one who was actually talking to him—that even a casual touch sent sparks through him?

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the hand was gone. Will jerked back as if he’d touched something hot.

Before Mike could reach for him, before he could ask what was wrong, Will straightened and stepped back, as if trying to put as much distance as possible between them.

“I’ll… uh… I’ll see you later,” he said hurriedly, words tripping over each other. “Gotta check on… stuff. I mean, El. I’ll see you later.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Mike sitting there, mouth slightly open, staring at the empty space where Will had been.

Silence hung for a moment, until Dustin’s voice cut through it.
“Okay, Mike’s weird freakout aside—we’ll talk about that later... but what’s up with Will?”

So, Will wasn’t in love with El.

Thank. Fucking. God. Mike had been short-circuiting just thinking about how they’d possibly navigate that situation.

Mike had spiralled over El, sure, but this little clue—this breadcrumb—still mattered. Just because one painting was for El didn’t mean Will didn’t have others. There could be more sketches, more drawings, potentially dedicated to the girl who was quietly breaking Will’s heart.

Art was the key. Of course it was. They had found the gate to the Upside Down through Will’s drawings—surely Mike could find the girl he liked the same way. He just needed a closer look at whatever Will was sketching in that sketchbook of his, which, as it turned out, was easier said than done.

At breakfast, he leaned over Will’s shoulder, trying to look casual, but nearly face-planted into a plate when Will shifted the sketchbook a little closer to himself.

At the donation centre, he kept inching over whenever Will opened it, pretending to wipe down tables he’d already cleaned three times, only to end up staring at the cover when Will snapped it shut every time he saw Mike creeping closer.

During free period, he tried to casually pass by Will’s table in the library—seven times. Each time, Will lifted a hand just as Mike leaned in, politely blocking the page with a small, puzzled smile that made Mike want to scream.

It was getting to the point where others started to notice.

“Dude,” Lucas whispered one time during class, nudging him in the ribs just as Mike leaned so far forward, he nearly slid out of his chair trying to see what Will was doodling on the edge of his worksheet. “Why are you creeping on Will?”

“Shhh! I’m not creeping. I’m just watching!” Mike hissed back.

“Right, and that’s totally normal thing to do.” Lucas deadpanned, turning back to his notes with a tiny, knowing smirk. “Watch away, Michael.”

Mike ignored him. Whatever. Lucas didn’t get it. Mike was onto something!

Which is why he was now crouched behind Will on the living room sofa, trying—and failing miserably—to look casual. He’d already “accidentally” dropped a pen next to Will’s elbow, but apparently he wasn’t smooth enough, because Will shot him a confused look.

“Uh… Mike?” Will’s pencil paused mid-stroke, eyes flicking up. “Did you need something?”

“Nope. Why?”

“You’re kind of… hovering.”

“I’m just watching. Like... as a friend.”

Will blinked at him, expression flat but mildly concerned. Then he shifted the sketchbook a few inches away. Damn it.

Mike tried to sneak another peek. “What are you drawing?”

Will tensed up. “Just an assignment for art class.”

Mike squinted. From this angle, it looked like a random mess of pencil lines. Maybe a horse? Maybe a car? Or maybe… the outline of a mysterious, devastatingly lovely girl, who was breaking Will’s heart? Hard to tell with Will angling the page away.

Mike leaned over the sofa even further, practically draping himself over Will. “So… what exactly is it—?”

Will flinched, much like someone does when a wasp gets too close and scrambled to gather his things. “I… uh… need colours. Pastels in the basement. I’ll finish it there.”

Mike watched him go, disappointment stabbing through his chest. The space between them suddenly felt cold and endless.

He flopped onto the now-empty sofa and let out a miserable sigh. What could possibly be so special about this girl that she was affecting Will this much?

Days went by, and Mike was getting nowhere. If anything, he felt further from Will than ever.

Will was slowly but surely withdrawing. He no longer sat next to Mike, even when it was the only seat left available. Instead, he curled up on the floor, sketchbook clutched to his knees like a shield. Every time Mike tried to inch closer, Will flinched, like Mike was carrying some invisible contagion.

And every time Mike tried to talk to him, Will somehow pulled someone else into the conversation. God damn it, one time when everyone was gathered in the living room watching TV, Mike casually asked Will about the latest X-Men issue—and before he knew it, Will was asking Mike’s dad for his opinion on Wolverine’s new design. Mike’s dad, Ted Wheeler, who honestly thought X-Men was a boy band.

Will started leaving more and more early in the mornings “to help at the donation centre” or to “work on an art project.” He suddenly had school art group outings he never mentioned before, and was always busy, always occupied—intentionally or not —avoiding Mike.

And Mike—he missed him. He had no idea how he’d survived the year Will was in Lenora, but now, under the same roof, it was unbearable. He wanted Will back; back to the easy companionship they’d always shared. Back to quiet conversations that only they could have that made Hawkins feel manageable despite all its chaos.

He wanted his best friend back.

So, after dinner, while they scrubbed dishes in near silence, Mike tried again.

“Hey… want to do something together tonight?”

Will glanced at him, and Mike froze, recognizing that familiar guarded expression—the one that always came right before a ‘no.’ Before Will could respond, Mike rushed on:

“I think my parents and your mom are going to a town meeting, and Nancy and Jonathan are going out too… So, we could, I don’t know, watch a movie in the living room. The whole house to ourselves.”

Will’s face flickered with something unreadable. Then he said tersely, “Sorry. Can’t.”

Mike’s stomach dropped. “Lucas and Dustin could come too,” he added, almost pleading. “We could… make it like a Party meeting.”

And how had it come to this? He had to entice his best friend with the promise of other people just to get him to hang out.

Will glanced away, a flicker of guilt crossing his features—like saying no hurt him as much as hearing it hurt Mike. “Mike, it’s not… I just can’t tonight, okay?”

Something twisted unpleasantly in Mike’s chest. Will turned away, and Mike felt an almost uncontrollable urge to grab his shoulder, spin him around, and demand answers—who’s breaking your heart? Who’s making you so sad and withdrawn? How can I fix it, so we can put things back the way they used to be?

“Why not?” Mike asked quietly. “It’ll be fun, I swear.” He cringed at how pathetic he sounded.

Will’s shoulders tensed, and he turned back to Mike, his eyes softening in a way that made Mike’s chest ache —a mix of regret and something else he couldn’t place.

“It’s not that I don’t want to hang out with you guys—I always want to,” Will said quickly.

Mike ignored the sting of the added “you guys.”

“I just have plans tonight. That’s all.”

“What plans?”

Will hesitated, then said casually, “I’m hanging out with Robin.”

Oh. Right. Robin.

...Oh.

Robin Buckley had slipped into Will’s life almost as randomly as she appeared in general.

If Mike was being honest, he had to admit that Robin was… fun. Talkative, excitable, slightly awkward, yet sassy in just the right way. She laughed easily, had quick comebacks, and could keep up with Steve Harrington in ways Mike still didn’t fully understand.

But.

Robin wasn’t part of their group—not really. Not like Steve, who had practically become an honorary member, even if his “babysitter” status was more accidental than official. Robin, on the other hand? She was part of the older crowd—with people like Nancy, Jonathan, and the rest of the slightly-too-old-to-be-kids-but-not-quite-adults crew.

And yet, somehow, she and Will had become… friends— and Mike could pinpoint exactly when it started.

It was maybe two weeks into the lockdown. Robin had stopped by to hang out with Nancy. Will and Mike were in the kitchen, sharing one of those rare moments when Will would actually talk and spend time with him almost like old times. They were making cocoa—maybe hot chocolate—Mike couldn’t remember exactly, and honestly, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Will, in his usual clumsy way, had burned himself.

Mike’s protective instincts kicked in immediately. He yanked Will’s hand under cold running water, scolding him frantically. “Be more careful! You can’t just—ugh, are you even paying attention?!”

Then he looked up and noticed Will staring at him with that soft, fond look he used to give—one that made Mike’s chest tighten in a warm, almost painful way. This… this is it. Things are finally going back to how they were, he thought.

And then he saw Robin.

She was leaning over the counter, her gaze sharp and curious, as if she was cataloguing everything in the room. Her eyes landed on Will for a moment, and there was something in that look—something clicking in her mind—and Mike had no idea what it was she saw, but he knew that was the moment this weird Robin-Will friendship had began.

Because later that evening, Robin asked Will to walk her to her car, which was literally just five steps away. When Mike offered to come along, Robin bluntly—and if you asked Mike, rudely—turned him down.

And after that walk, which somehow took way longer than it should have, Robin and Will became… like... friends.

Suddenly, Robin wasn’t just coming over to see Nancy anymore—she was there to hang out with Will too. They had private jokes, and their little hushed conversations, and Mike was completely left out of it all! Every time he came near when they were having their secret chats, they just clammed up. Which honestly? Freaking rude!

It only got worse at Family Video, where Robin would silently hold up movie titles for Will to read, prompting him to smile, blush, or even burst into laughter—a sound Mike hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. And now, the only place he got to hear his best friend laugh like that was at Family Video with some girl who wasn’t even part of their group, and what the hell even was that?!

Suffice it to say, Mike wasn’t exactly Robin’s biggest fan. Not that he disliked her—he liked her well enough. She was fun... but she just didn’t belong in their group! He just wished she’d stick to friends her own age, that’s all!

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? Mike couldn’t shake the nagging, ugly suspicion that maybe—just maybe—Robin was the girl Will had feelings for. The girl Will might secretly be in love with… the one breaking his heart.

Maybe that explained everything: why Will seemed so miserable, convinced that his feelings were hopelessly one-sided. He saw Robin as a girl—and Robin saw him as just a kid.

It also explained the tight knot in Mike’s chest every time he saw them together. That… protective anger; righteous fury on Will’s behalf—that had to be it. He was furious at the thought of this woman possibly leading Will on, taking advantage of how much Will looked up to her.

That had to be the reason why his knuckles turned white as he clenched his fists, eyes glued to Will and Robin in the kitchen. Every laugh they shared felt like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even know what they were laughing at, and it still grated on him like nails on a chalkboard. What could possibly be so damn funny, anyway?

Then, Robin reached over and ruffled Will’s hair. Just ruffled it—light, affectionate, as if touching him was the most natural thing in the world. Will ducked his head and laughed again, looking younger, lighter...

Mike’s stomach twisted at the sight. He wanted to wrench her hand away. He wanted to say something snippy. He wanted… he didn’t even know what he wanted!

Then, thank God, Robin finally flashed Will one last grin and headed upstairs to find Nancy. Mike didn’t hesitate—he was at Will’s side before he even realized he was moving.

“What were you guys talking about?”

Will jumped, startled. “Geez, don’t sneak up like that!”

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Mike said quickly. “I was here the whole time. You just didn’t notice because you were busy talking with Robin.” He forced her name out through clenched teeth. “So… what were you talking about?”

“Just about a movie we saw last night.”

Irritation flared in Mike’s chest. “Right, last night—you mean when you didn’t want to watch a movie with us?”

Confusion crossed Will’s face. “I mean… when I couldn’t watch a movie with you guys because I already promised I’d watch a movie with Robin?”

Mike huffed, unable to hide how bitter it sounded. “Whatever.”

He stormed toward the counter, fumbling for cocoa packets, except his hands were shaking and everything felt wrong. He needed cocoa—or at least something to do with his hands before he punched a wall.

“Do you... not like Robin or something?” Will asked quietly.

Mike forced a shrug. “She’s alright.” He glanced at Will. “What about you? Do you like Robin?”

Will blinked, then smiled—soft and genuine. “Yeah. Of course. She’s awesome.”

Something twisted uncomfortably in Mike’s chest. He dropped the cocoa packet back into the drawer, suddenly not in the mood anymore.

“She’s old,” he blurted.

“…What?”

“Robin. She’s just… old.”

Will frowned. “Um, she’s the same age as Nancy and Steve.”

“Exactly,” Mike insisted. “Which is why it’s weird that you... that you two hang out all the time.”

“It’s not all the time,” Will said, clearly confused. “And besides, Dustin hangs out with Steve way more than I do with Robin.”

Mike huffed. “Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How so?”

“You know so,” Mike muttered.

“I really don’t,” Will said, sounding genuinely baffled... which gave Mike a pause. Damn it, did he get it wrong again?

“She’s a girl… but like, an older girl, you know? Like… a woman,” Mike finally managed to say, sounding pathetic even to himself.

Will raised an eyebrow. “…Yeah? And?”

“And…” Mike’s mind went blank. Crap, he had nothing. “It’s just weird,” he finished weakly.

Will’s frown deepened, a flicker of defensiveness crossing his face. “I like hanging out with Robin, okay? She’s… she’s cool, and… and someone I look up to. Kind of like how Steve is to Dustin.”

Mike blinked, stunned. Wait, what? What the hell?

“Steve teaches Dustin how to be a man and get girls. So, what’s Robin teaching you?”

Will’s face flushed a soft pink, and he looked down. “She’s not teaching me anything. We just… talk. She listens. And it’s just… nice. Having someone who—”

“I listen,” Mike blurted out without thinking.

Will’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I listen,” Mike repeated, stepping closer. “You can talk to me. If you need to, I’m— I’m right here. You don’t have to go to some… older girl for that. I’m right here.”

Will’s expression twisted, caught somewhere between frustration and helplessness, as if Mike’s words physically hurt him.

“I can’t talk about it with you.”

Mike’s heart sank. “Why not?”

Will bit his lip. “Because some things are just easier to talk about with Robin, alright? It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” Mike snapped, louder than he meant to.

“It’s really not. And look, I’ve got a few projects I need to finish, so—”

Panic surged through him as Will shifted like he was about to leave—again— and Mike closed the distance in two quick steps. Before Will could retreat, Mike grabbed his arm. He couldn’t let him walk away. Not this time. Not without finally getting to… something.

“I’m your best friend, Will,” Mike said, voice cracking around the words. “Your best friend. So why is it suddenly easier to talk to everyone else but me?”

Will stiffened under his touch.

“Mike, just… let it go, okay?”

“No! Screw that! I want to know what’s going on.” Mike’s frustration bubbled over. “You won’t talk to me anymore. You dodge every time I try to hang out, disappear to that donation centre for hours, or you’re at that stupid art class, or you’re off with Robin like I don’t even exist—”

“It’s not— it’s not like that,” Will muttered, stepping back.

Mike moved with him, tightening his grip, and Will went rigid under his hand. Great, just great! As if Mike's touch was unbearable!

“It is like that,” Mike insisted, his voice almost shaking. “You’re pushing me away, Will, and I don’t get why. And I know there is something going on with you. I know you're hurting—!"

“Mike, please, just stop,” Will whispered, his gaze darting anywhere but Mike's face.

Wow, has it really come to this? His best friend can’t even bear to look at him anymore?

“Stop what?” Mike pressed, desperation creeping in. “Stop trying to help when you’re clearly not okay? I’ve been giving you space—”

Will jerked his head toward Mike’s hand still on his arm. “This is your idea of giving me space?”

Mike’s breath hitched, but he didn’t let go. If he did, Will would bolt, he knew it.

“What else am I supposed to do? What do you want me to do?” Mike pleaded. “When you keep shutting me out? God, Will, this is so stupid! Just—just tell me, just say it out loud so we can fix this.”

Will froze.

“Fix it?” he echoed.

“Yes!” Mike leaned closer. “I just want things to go back to normal, you know?”

Will stared at him, as if the word caught him off guard.

“Normal,” he repeated, his voice hollow.

“Yeah. So just talk to me. I can help you through this! I’ve been trying to help you. I’ve been trying so hard to—”

“Well, stop trying!” Will snapped, voice raw, loud. “You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!”

It felt like a punch to the gut.

“W-worse?” Mike stammered. “I’m making things worse for you? How—?”

Will’s face crumbled, lips trembling, and Mike’s stomach dropped. Shit, was he about to cry?

“Forget it,” Will choked out, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this. You can’t fix me.”

“What? Will—what are you even talking about?”

Mike took a step forward, desperate to reach him, to steady him, to fix something—anything—

But Will jerked his arm out of Mike’s grasp, like the touch physically hurt him.

“Just… just leave me alone, Mike.” He turned and bolted around the corner before Mike could get another word out.

Mike stayed frozen where he was, his hand still hanging uselessly in the air.

In that moment, he felt more lost than he ever had in his life.

Mike sank deeper into the chair, the stiff vinyl digging into his back. He shifted, twisted, tried to find a position that didn’t feel terrible, but nothing helped— that restless buzz was still under his skin.

It had been there ever since that… whatever it was with Will. Conversation? Argument? Fight? He still wasn’t sure. All he knew was that no amount of fidgeting or slow breaths could shake the feeling.

You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!

He flinched at the memory and dragged a hand down his face, as if he could scrub the words out of his head. What was Will even mad about? Had he somehow figured out Mike was asking around about this mystery girl—being protective, trying to keep Mike away from her for some reason? Or was it just that Will didn’t want him poking around in his life at all?

...But Will was his best friend!

Didn’t that give him a rightful stake in the matter? Wasn’t it his duty to step in and help? If Will was hurting—if someone was breaking his heart—didn’t Mike have a responsibility to make things right?

You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!

He used to be so good at cheering Will up. When no one else knew what to do—not even his mom or Jonathan—Mike could always get him to smile. It always felt so easy, so natural. But now?

You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!

You’re only making it worse, Mike!

You make it worse, Mike!

Mike!

“...Mike. Mike! Dude, are you even listening?”

The sharp, impatient voice snapped him out of the spiral. He blinked, dragged back into the fluorescent-lit hospital room. Lucas sat across from him, eyebrows raised—clearly he’d been calling Mike’s name for a while.

“I’m listening,” Mike lied.

Lucas nodded toward the hospital bed where Max lay motionless, tubes and monitors softly beeping around her. “So… what do you think? Should we try the headphones? Play the music straight into her ears instead of blasting it in the room?”

He shrugged. “Dunno.”

Lucas gave him a long, unimpressed stare. “Wow. Insightful. Truly.”

Mike managed a weak, guilty smile. “Sorry, I really don’t know. But we can try. Can’t hurt, right?”

With a sigh, Lucas picked up the headphones and gently settled them over Max’s ears, brushing a bit of hair out of the way with a tenderness that made Mike look away, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something.

Lucas pressed play on the Walkman, and the opening hum of Running Up That Hill filled the room.

“I miss her,” he said quietly. “It’s… strange. She’s right here, but she’s not. You know?”  

Mike swallowed hard. “Yeah, I get it.” After a moment, he added, “When Will was gone… he was here in a way, sort of. But really… he wasn’t. And it—yeah, it sucked.”

Lucas shot him a look—one of those weird, knowing glances he’d been giving more and more lately.

“Yeah, it’s pretty much the same deal,” he said, as if it were some sort of inside joke.

Mike frowned, unsure of what to make of it. Lucas just offered a small, resigned smile and turned back to Max, watching her intently as if he were trying to memorize her face all over again.

“I miss her too,” Mike admitted, then frowned and added, “Which… is kind of weird to think about. Remember how I didn’t like her at first?”

“Yeah, you were such an asshole.” Lucas said lightly.

“Hey!”

Mike crossed his arms and slouched lower, but Lucas only snorted.

The room settled into its usual rhythm—the steady beeping of the monitors, the muffled music. Mike’s eyes lingered on Max. He really did miss her, especially in moments like this. She had a knack for knowing just what to say, even if her advice could be blunt and borderline on rude.

“I wish she would wake up soon. I could really use her help right now,” Mike murmured.

Lucas turned to him, curiosity piqued. “Yeah? With what?”

Mike twisted his hands nervously. “Well, I’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“A situation,” Lucas repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Mike took a breath. “Yeah, and Max was always good at handling this kind of stuff—the relationship kind of stuff."

“Wait—is this about you and El? Is that why you’ve been acting so weird? I thought you two were good now.”

“We are,” Mike replied, his voice dropping as he stared at the floor. “Actually… we’re better as friends. Way better. We probably should’ve broken up a long time ago.”

Being friends was… easier. Lighter. There were no pressures, no unspoken expectations. They could joke around and just simply hang out. It felt like shedding a layer of tension they hadn’t even noticed they were carrying.

“So, if it’s not about El,” Lucas said slowly, “what’s this relationship problem?”

Mike hesitated, his fingers still twisting in his lap. “I… I can’t really say.”

Lucas rolled his eyes and nudged him. “Come on, man. Max isn’t here to knock sense into you, so I guess it’s my job. Spill.”

“I can’t,” Mike insisted. “It’s… it’s not really my problem.”

Lucas’s expression sharpened immediately. “Is it about Will?”

Mike froze, completely unprepared for how fast—and how accurately—Lucas had gotten there. But he just leaned back, raising his eyebrows as if it were obvious.

“Look, I’m not stupid. If anyone’s been acting weirder than you lately, it’s Will. Dustin noticed too—thought maybe he was having nightmares again or something. We were actually thinking of talking to him about it…”

“Wait—when was that happening?” Mike cut in, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. “Why wasn’t I part of that conversation?”

Lucas shrugged. “We wanted to do a little recon first. You can get… kind of overly protective, you know? Didn’t want to start drama unless there was something real going on.”

Mike huffed. “Overly protective? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” Lucas said, half teasing. “Just figured Will deserves a chance to handle his own stuff before you swoop in and go all intense on him.”

“I’m not intense!” Mike shot back defensively.

Lucas raised an unimpressed eyebrow, silently daring him to argue further.

Mike let out a frustrated sigh. “Whatever. Besides… you’ve got it wrong. It’s not nightmares or some Upside Down thing making Will act weird.”

Lucas’s eyes narrowed. “It’s not? Then what is?”

Mike bit his lip, suddenly aware of how much he’d already said.

“Nothing,” he muttered—then winced. Even he didn’t buy that. “Okay, not nothing. Obviously, something’s up. But I can’t tell you because it’s Will’s thing… even though it’s kind of become my thing too because we had this weird fight—if it even counts as a fight, I don’t know. Ugh, forget it.” He dropped his head into his hands in frustration.

Lucas tilted his head, studying him, clearly already piecing things together.

“Hold up,” Lucas said slowly, leaning back in his chair. “You’re saying whatever’s going on with Will… also sort of involves you? And it’s some kind of… romantic relationship problem?”

Mike bit his lip again. There were two paths he could take: spill everything or pretend he didn’t know what Lucas was talking about. But would it even count as spilling if Lucas had already put most of it together? Dustin noticed too, that something was off with Will. They were apparently talking about it—without Mike. And honestly… he needed backup. He was already screwing everything up...

You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!

“Yeah,” Mike said quietly. “It’s… it’s a romantic relationship problem, and Will—”

For some inexplicable reason, Lucas’s eyes lit up as if he’d just discovered hidden treasure.

“Dude!” he burst out, smacking Mike on the shoulder with a grin that left Mike blinking in surprise. “I knew there was more to your break-up with El than you let on!”

“What? What does my break-up have to do with—?”

But Lucas wasn’t really listening. He swatted Mike’s shoulder again, this time almost offended. “Why didn’t you tell us? Did you think we’d be weird about it? You know we’d be supportive, right?”

“Of course, I knew you’d want to help,” Mike said slowly, still thrown by the enthusiasm. “But… I don’t know. I only found out by accident. It didn’t feel like my place to say anything. Will doesn’t even know I know.”

Lucas’s smile dropped. His eyes narrowed like his brain had suddenly crashed. “Will… doesn’t know... Okay, wait—I’m confused again. What exactly are you talking about?”

The frustration in Mike’s chest finally snapped loose. “The fact that Will is heartbroken over someone, and it’s making him miserable, and I can’t do anything to help!” he burst out, and damn it, it felt good—too good—to finally say it out loud.

Lucas eyed him carefully.

“Right,” he said slowly. “And that someone is…?”

“I don’t know!” Mike groaned. “That’s the problem! I’ve been trying to track her down, but every lead is a dead end, and now Will’s even more angry with me than before, and he’s not even hiding the fact that he’s avoiding me and everything just... sucks!”

Lucas blinked at him. Then his expression shifted—confusion, disbelief, and finally that look Mike had been getting from everyone lately: Are you serious right now?

“You’re… trying to find her?” Lucas asked carefully, voice dropping. “Who’s ‘her,’ Mike?”

Mike let out a frustrated breath. “The stupid girl who’s breaking Will’s heart!”

Lucas stared at him like he’d just sprouted a second head. “You’re… joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Why would I joke about this?” Mike snapped. “I overheard Jonathan and Will talking, and it was pretty damn clear this girl is making Will miserable! There’s nothing funny about that!”

Lucas rubbed his forehead, laughing under his breath. “Mike… I seriously doubt a girl is breaking Will’s heart.”

Mike squinted. “Why not?”

“Dude… it’s Will. He’s… you know.”

“What?”

“He’s… come on. You know.”

“I don’t know!”

“Mike, a girl’s not going to break Will’s heart.” Lucas said, rolling his eyes as if Mike were playing a practical joke.

“Why not?!”

Lucas exhaled, equal parts exasperated and amused. “Oh my God, are we really saying it out loud? Dude, he doesn’t… you know… do relationships with girls.”

Mike frowned. “Who else would he—?”

“Oh wow,” Lucas said, rubbing his forehead, still trying not to laugh. “What other option could there possibly be, Mike?”

Mike felt a sinking sensation in his stomach, and for a moment, the world around him seemed to tilt.  

“Oh.” he whispered. “Oh… oh shit.”

Slowly, the realization hit him—quiet at first, then cold and crushing.
He went completely still. His mind spun backward, flipping through memory after memory, every detail he’d brushed aside snapping sharply into place.

The way people—kids, adults, even his own parents—looked at Will whenever the topic of romance came up. The jokes. The offhand comments that always seemed to land a little too close. All the times Mike had told Will to shrug it off, saying, “They’re just talking nonsense; they don’t know anything; it’s stupid” —now settled on his chest like a pile of stones.

He remembered his dad, years ago, muttering at the TV when two men in a show held hands: “Why can’t they just do things the normal way? Why the freak show?” Mike had laughed it off, not understanding why Will suddenly went quiet or why he’d rushed home right after they finished their homework.

And Lonnie. God—Lonnie. Will’s dad stumbling into his room while they were playing, drunk and slurring, saying things to Will that Mike didn’t even understand back then, just before Mrs. Byers dashed in and yanked him out.

And then there was his own voice. That stupid, sharp thing he’d snapped at Will years ago—“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls.”

The words had slipped out in frustration, in thoughtless anger, but now they felt like a cruel hammer hitting him over and over. He wanted to crawl back in time, to grab his past self by the shoulders and shake the words back into his mouth.

God, was that why Will never opened up to him? Did he believe Mike wouldn’t accept him? Was that why he pulled away now, flinching away, unable to look him in the eyes... like... like being near Mike was causing him pain...?

Just—just say it out loud so we can fix this.

I just want things to go back to normal, you know?

It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god.

How long had he...? Since Lenora? Before that? The whole time? Had Will always known?

And Mike—his best friend, the one person who should have been safe for Will to share this with—hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t even considered it. He’d been so focused on finding some girl to blame, so convinced he was helping, that he’d completely missed the truth sitting right in front of him.

You’re only making it worse for me, Mike!

His chest tightened, almost suffocating. Will—brave, stubborn, endlessly good Will—had been struggling alone. Meanwhile, Mike had been running around in circles, blind to it all.

How hadn’t he noticed? The way Will tensed whenever people talked about love or girlfriends? The way he changed the subject? The way he looked at Mike sometimes—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t?

Heat crept up Mike’s face—guilt and frustration twisting together.

God. He’d been such an idiot!

Mike barely registered Lucas watching him, the earlier amusement gone—replaced by something quieter, almost worried.

“Wait,” Lucas said slowly, as if Mike had just admitted he didn’t know what two plus two was. “You seriously… didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t!” Mike’s voice cracked. He swiped a shaky hand across his face, pretending to scratch an itch to hide the tears gathering in his eyes. “I— I thought— I don’t even know what I thought—” He sucked in a shaky breath. “How… how did I not know?”

Lucas’s expression softened, his eyebrows drawing together in sympathy. “Dude… I honestly have no idea.” He let out a heavy sigh and leaned back. “Everyone knows. I mean—not literally everyone—but at least everyone in the Party. Or… at least we thought we all did.”

Mike swallowed hard, his throat burning. “No one ever said anything…”

“Because it’s not our place to say anything,” Lucas explained. “It’s like… we know, but we don’t say we know, because Will hasn’t told us himself. So, until he does, we don’t know, even if we do. Make sense?”

Mike just stared. “…No.”

Lucas groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Alright, look… Just let Will come to you when he’s ready. Don’t push him— and don’t be an asshole about it, okay?”

That snapped Mike back like a slap. “Why would I be an asshole about it?”

Lucas gave him a look. “’Cause you’re kinda… freaking out right now.”

“I am not freaking out,” Mike said, voice shooting embarrassingly high. He cleared his throat, wiping at his cheek again. “I’m just—realizing I had this whole thing wrong. I thought Will was heartbroken over some girl in Lenora, like they couldn’t be together anymore.” His hands clenched, knuckles going white. “For a second I even thought it might be El—”

“What?”

“Which—yeah, I know, insane. Then I thought maybe it was Robin—”

“What?!”

“—but it’s none of that. It’s not about any of that.” Mike stared down at his trembling hands, chest aching. “I really messed this up.”

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the soft hum of Max’s monitors and the faint music playing through her headphones. Mike blinked rapidly, tears slipping down his cheeks despite his effort to keep them at bay. He hastily wiped them away with his sleeve, hoping Lucas wouldn’t notice— but, of course, he did.

He scooted closer and set a steady hand on Mike’s shoulder. “Look, man… We honestly thought you were in the loop. If we’d known you weren’t, we would’ve said something sooner. But hey—now you know. And whatever happens next? We’ve got you.”

Mike sniffed, shoulders shaking despite himself. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Lucas replied softly. “We care about both of you. Whatever you want to do about it, it’s cool with us. We'll be, you know, supportive.”

Mike pressed his lips together as fresh tears welled up. God, he really did have awesome friends.

“Thanks, Lucas. Really. This… makes it easier. I know I screwed things up. It was already complicated, and Will was right—I just made everything worse. But now we can fix it together. We always fix stuff better when we work as a team.” He straightened, a spark of determination lighting in his eyes. “We just need to find him.”

Lucas froze. “…Find who?”

Mike’s jaw set, something hot and protective flaring in his chest. “The guy Will’s in love with.” His hands balled into fists again. “Whoever that asshole is.”

Because yeah—this changed everything. He had thought it was a girl making Will miserable. Mike couldn’t punch a girl. But some guy breaking Will’s heart? Making him feel scared and hurting in silence? Mike could definitely punch him. And he might; he wanted to.

Lucas stared at him, mouth opening and closing in disbelief, as if struggling to process what he’d just heard. Finally, his expression collapsed into exhausted disbelief.

“Wow,” he muttered, equal parts stunned and resigned.

Mike wasn’t sure what that meant, but when Lucas turned to Max and gave her the familiar, helpless look he’d shot her a hundred times before, the message was obvious: Can you believe this shit?