Chapter Text
The biting chill of winter had begun to lose its edge by the time February arrived, and the air held a crisp, faint scent of the coming thaw. It was a season of quiet transitions, mirroring the way Will and Chance’s relationship had blossomed from a secret kept in a villa to a steady, rhythmic presence in their daily lives.
One of the biggest shifts had started on those Sunday mornings. Will continued to go to church with Chance, a habit that had initially made Joyce raise a suspicious eyebrow over her coffee mug. She knew her son, and she knew he had never been particularly religious, but she saw the way he looked when he came home—grounded, peaceful, and wearing a subtle glow that had nothing to do with the sermons.
Meeting Chance’s family had happened naturally among the pews, and Chance’s mother had taken a like to Will right from the start. She was a woman who valued a gentle spirit, and Will’s quiet politeness won her over before the final blessing was even said. When she first invited Will back to the house for lunch, he had hesitated, his mind immediately cataloging all the ways a formal family meal could go awkwardly wrong. But then he looked at Chance. He saw the way Chance was beaming, his dark eyes pleading and hopeful, and Will realized he couldn't possibly say no.
What started as a single invitation quickly became a Sunday ritual. The Perez household was a world of warm light and the constant, lively energy of Chance’s younger brothers. Will found himself folded into their lives with surprising ease, sitting at the long dining table and listening to Chance’s parents trade stories about their own childhoods.
He became a fixture in the house, often found on the floor of the game room helping Chance’s little brothers build elaborate structures or playing arcade games. There was a domesticity to it that Will had never experienced outside of his own small family.
And though the house was often full of people, they became experts at the "sneak." They found their moments in the quiet of the pantry, the shadow of the back porch, or a quick detour to Chance’s room to "grab a sweater," where they could finally drop the polite act and share a breath, a touch, or a whispered secret that belonged only to them.
While Sundays were for family, Monday through Friday required a different kind of discipline. At Hawkins High, they were masters of the "safe distance." They had learned how to navigate the crowded corridors without ever letting their eyes linger too long, keeping to a silent agreement that satisfied the watchful eyes of the town.
But the distance was only a surface-level performance. They had drawn a secret map of the school over the months, identifying the pockets of space where the world couldn't reach them. There was the far corner of the art room, hidden behind a graveyard of half-finished sculptures; the narrow gap between the gym and the equipment shed; and the very back of the library, where the dust-covered reference books provided a perfect shield.
In these spots, the "new normal" felt less like a compromise and more like a victory. They became experts at the subtle art of existing in the same room without touching, though they found ways to bridge the gap.
Small hints of their connection were scattered throughout the day, a quiet, meaningful look across a crowded classroom or a lingering step when they passed in the hall. Their lockers became private mailboxes, where Will would find a scrap of paper with one of Chance’s clumsy but charming sketches, or Chance would find a note from Will that made the long school hours feel a little shorter. These were the hidden threads of their love, woven into the mundane fabric of the school day, keeping them tethered even when they had to stand apart.
By mid-February, the rest of the Party had fully integrated into this new reality. Mike had returned to the group dynamic by the end of December, realizing that his loyalty to his friends outweighed the sting of his own heartbreak.
For a long time, Mike had remained noticeably distant, especially whenever Chance was hanging out with the group. During those moments, he was quiet, his eyes often fixed on anything but the two of them. Yet, when Chance wasn't around, Mike would slip back into his old self, his voice getting louder and his energy returning to the way it used to be.
Eventually, the tension began to dissolve into a quiet, functional truce. The "new normal" had simply become life, and Mike reached a point where he could finally handle seeing Will and Chance together without the air in the room turning to lead.
____________
The credits of A Nightmare on Elm Street flickered across the small TV screen, casting a rhythmic blue light over the chaos of Mike’s basement. The movie was over, but the energy in the room remained high.
Dustin and Lucas were deep in a heated debate about the logistics of the dream world, while Nick and August were busy seeing who could toss popcorn into the other's mouth from across the coffee table. Hanna and Max were huddled over a magazine, whispering and laughing, while El sat tucked into the corner of the sofa, watching the room with a quiet, content smile.
In the middle of the noise, Will and Chance existed in a bubble of their own. They were pressed together so tightly they looked like a single silhouette, with Chance’s arms wrapped securely around Will’s waist from behind. Chance had his head rested comfortably on Will’s shoulder, his eyes half-closed as he murmured something private that made Will’s shoulders shake with a silent laugh. Will was looking back at him, his face lit up with a soft, effortless smile. He reached into a bowl of M&Ms balanced on his lap, picked out a yellow one, and held it up. Chance leaned in and took it from his fingers, his lips lingering for a second against Will’s skin.
Dustin stopped mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he finally took in the scene. "Man," he said, shaking his head. "I gotta hand it to you, Chance. I’ve never seen Will so... stuck to someone. You guys are like a human puzzle."
Lucas looked over, pausing his argument to squint at them. "Yeah, I was thinking that, too. Will, seriously, look at you. You’re practically merged with him. I’ve known you since kindergarten, and you’ve always been a warm guy, you give great hugs and all, but this? Since when do you let anyone hang onto you like a backpack for the entire night? You usually want your own space on the couch."
"Maybe I'm just comfortable," Will said simply, leaning his head back against Chance's. He didn't move an inch; if anything, he seemed to settle deeper into the embrace.
"It’s just different," Lucas insisted, gesturing at them with a half-eaten Twizzler. "Is this a California thing? Did the West Coast just destroy your concept of personal space? Because you were never this clingy with us."
Will laughed, a bright, genuine sound. A spark of mischief lit up his eyes as he looked at his oldest friend. "I don't know, Lucas. Maybe I just like the view from here. Why? Do you want me to come over there and sit next to you instead?"
He made a playful move to uncurl his legs as if to shift away, but before he could even move, Chance’s arms locked firmly around his waist, pulling him back.
"Nope," Chance drawled, giving Lucas a smug, challenging grin as he tightened his hold. "He’s fine right where he is. This spot is taken."
Mike was sitting in his usual armchair, nursing a lukewarm soda. He was trying to be part of the group, trying to act like the "new normal" didn't still pull at the stitches of his heart. He forced a small, practiced smile, though he kept his eyes fixed on the empty soda can in his hands to avoid the sight of Will looking so safe in someone else's arms.
"I think you just have to accept it, Lucas," Mike said, his voice quiet but steady. "Will’s found a new favorite spot. You’re just going to have to deal with being demoted."
Lucas narrowed his eyes, looking between Mike and the couple on the sofa. "I’m just saying, it’s a big shift! If it's not a California thing, then what is it? Is this just what you do with your really close friends, Chance? You just cuddle them to death?"
"Yeah," Dustin chimed in, nodding as if he’d cracked a code. "Is that the deal? Is this just a super-intense best friend thing? Like, the 'California' kind of friendships?"
Chance looked at Will, and they shared a silent, amused conversation. They are literally never going to get it, Chance’s eyes said. We have to show them, Will’s smile answered.
"Okay," Chance said, shifting so he could look at Dustin and Lucas with a deadpan expression. "I’m going to try something. Think of it as a demonstration. Let's see if this registers."
"What demonstration?" Dustin asked, leaning forward.
Chance didn't answer. Instead, he reached up, cupped the back of Will’s neck, and pulled him down for a kiss. It wasn't a joke, and it wasn't a quick peck. It was slow, confident, and unmistakably romantic. The room went dead silent. Nick and August exchanged a grin, while Hanna and Max shared a knowing look.
Mike felt the air leave his lungs. He didn't say anything, but he immediately snapped his gaze away, focusing intently on a loose thread on the arm of his chair. He squeezed the soda can until the aluminum crinkled, his jaw tight as he waited for the moment to pass.
When Chance finally pulled back, he looked at the two boys. "Does that clarify the 'friendship' for you?"
Dustin and Lucas sat there, frozen. Dustin’s mouth was slightly open. Lucas was blinking rapidly, his brain seemingly short-circuiting.
"Wait," Dustin finally squeaked, his voice cracking. "So... you're not just best buds?"
Max let out a muffled scream into a pillow. "OH MY GOD, THEY ARE DATING! THEY HAVE BEEN DATING FOR MONTHS!"
"Oh!" Dustin shouted, the realization finally hitting him. He looked at Will, then Chance. "Oh! Well, that makes a lot more sense than the California thing!"
"Wait," Lucas stammered, looking at Mike, then back at the couple. "Since when?"
"Since the party, man," Chance said, resting his chin on Will’s shoulder, looking entirely pleased with himself. "Try to keep up."
"But..." Lucas stammered, looking at Mike and then back at the tangled mess of limbs on the sofa, his brain still trying to recalibrate. "I thought you guys were just... really into painting!"
"To be fair," Will laughed, finally leaning his full weight back into the safety of Chance’s arms, his face flushed but his eyes bright. "I thought it was just about the art at the beginning, too. I was actually trying to be a strict teacher." He tilted his head back, catching Chance’s eye upside down. "Turns out, my star pupil had hidden intentions that had nothing to do with shading techniques."
"Wait, hold on," Chance protested immediately, though he didn't look all that offended. He squeezed Will’s waist playfully. "I am a dedicated student! I was there in the library every week during lunch, wasn't I? I was doing those charcoal sketches for the craft, Byers. Purely for the love of the medium."
Will just raised an eyebrow at him, a knowing, skeptical smile playing on his lips.
Chance held the serious face for exactly two seconds before the facade cracked. A low chuckle vibrated against Will's back.
"Okay... fine. You got me," Chance admitted, looking entirely unrepentant as he rested his chin on Will's shoulder. "Maybe the art was just a really convenient excuse to spend those lunch periods with a cute guy in the library. I had to use my best puppy-dog eyes just to get him to agree to teach me." He grinned at the group, looking smug. "But the joke’s on him, because I actually developed an interest. I kept drawing, didn't I? I've gotten so much better that Will finally upgraded me. He actually lets me use the watercolors now. That’s how you know it’s serious."
The basement erupted into chaos—Dustin and Lucas arguing loudly over who should have noticed the 'clues' first, Max and Hanna teasing them for being the densest people in Indiana, and El finally letting out her giggles into a pillow. Nick and August were laughing along, clearly enjoying the spectacle of the boys finally catching up.
In the middle of the noise, Will squeezed Chance’s hand, anchoring himself. He glanced over at the armchair; Mike was looking at the floor, but when he felt Will’s gaze, he looked up for a brief, guarded moment. Mike offered a small, resigned nod, a silent peace treaty, before quickly turning to shout a comeback at Dustin.
It wasn't the ending Mike would have written for himself, but seeing Will laugh like that, free and unafraid, he knew it was the one Will deserved.
_________
The chaos of the basement finally emptied out into the driveway as the night wound down. Max and El had piled into the back of August’s Volvo with Hanna and Nick, the girls already halfway into a conversation about their sleepover plans as the heavy door thudded shut. Dustin and Lucas had vanished down the street on their bikes minutes ago, their voices echoing in the crisp night air until they were nothing but distant shadows.
Chance had jogged down the block to where he’d parked, leaving Will and Mike standing alone at the edge of the asphalt. The orange glow of the streetlamp overhead felt heavy, casting long, flickering shadows between them.
For a moment, the only sound was the wind rustling the bare branches of the trees and the low hum of August’s car engine fading away as it turned the corner. Will stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, shivering slightly as he watched the spot where Chance had disappeared.
"He really does make you happy, doesn't he?"
The question was quiet, almost lost in the wind. Will turned, a little surprised to hear Mike break the silence. Mike was looking out at the street, his expression unreadable, his hands buried deep in his own pockets. There was no bite in his tone, no jealousy, just a quiet, resigned observation.
Will softened, a small, genuine smile touching his lips. "Yeah," he said softly. "He really does."
"I’m glad, Will," Mike said, finally turning to look him in the eye. The streetlamp cast shadows across his face, making him look older, tired. "You deserve it. You deserve to be that happy. Probably more than anyone else I know."
Will felt a lump form in his throat. "Thanks, Mike."
"I also..." Mike paused, struggling with the words. He looked down at his sneakers, then forced himself to look back up. "I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. For being such a jerk the last few months. I was... I was jealous. And possessive. And I hurt you."
Will’s eyes widened slightly. He stepped closer. "Mike, it’s okay. We were all going through stuff. I know I wasn't easy to deal with, either. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel—"
"No," Mike interrupted, his voice firm. He shook his head. "No, don't do that. Don't apologize. You didn't do anything wrong, Will. It was all me. I made things heavy. I made it weird because I was... I was scared of losing you, and instead, I just pushed you away."
Will looked at him, seeing the raw honesty in Mike’s face. It was the Mike Wheeler he remembered—the one who cared so much it hurt.
"You didn't lose me, Mike," Will said gently. "I'm still right here."
Mike let out a shaky breath, a sad, crooked smile appearing on his face. "Yeah. You are."
Mike stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Will. It wasn't the desperate, clinging hug of someone trying to keep someone from leaving; it was solid, warm, and apologetic.Will hugged him back instantly, resting his chin on Mike’s shoulder, squeezing tight. This time, it didn't feel like a goodbye. It felt like a bridge being rebuilt. Will closed his eyes, a surge of hope swelling in his chest.
We’re going to be okay, he thought. We can be best friends again.
But for Mike, holding Will in his arms like this, the feeling was bittersweet. He breathed in the familiar scent of Will’s shampoo, feeling the warmth of the boy who had been the center of his universe for as long as he could remember. He knew, with a painful clarity, that Will was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But he also knew that to keep Will in his life, he had to let go of the part of himself that wanted more. He had to bury the feelings that had almost destroyed their friendship and accept the reality standing in front of him.
He’s happy, Mike told himself, the thought echoing like a mantra as he patted Will’s back. He’s happy, and that has to be enough.
Headlights swept across them, cutting through the moment. Chance’s car pulled up to the curb, the engine idling softly.
Mike pulled back, clearing his throat and stepping away, his mask of normalcy sliding back into place. "Your ride's here," he said, his voice only shaking a little.
"Yeah," Will said, smiling at him, a real, hopeful smile that reached his eyes. "See you at school on Monday?"
"Yeah," Mike said, forcing a grin. "See you on Monday."
He watched as Will jogged to the car and hopped in. He saw Chance lean over to say something that made Will laugh, and he saw the way Will looked at Chance with that bright, unburdened affection.
Mike stood on the curb until the red glow of the taillights bled into the darkness of the street and finally disappeared. The night air was silent now, save for the distant, lonely whistle of the wind through the power lines.
He stood there for a long time, the cold seeping through his jacket, before he finally turned and walked back into the house. He bypassed the kitchen, ignoring the half-empty bowls of popcorn and the lingering energy of the night, and climbed the stairs to his room. The house felt unnervingly quiet without the chaos of the Party. Inside his bedroom, he shut the door and sat down at his desk.
The heavy, black typewriter sat there, a half-typed page still curled around the platen. He had been working on this manuscript for weeks for the Hawkins High Writing Club. Mrs. O’Donnell had challenged them to write a "Modern Myth", a retelling of a classic legend transposed into a new world, and Mike had poured everything he had into it. It was his way of making sense of the chaos, taking the messy, broken pieces of his life and smoothing them into something that followed a script.
He sat down, the familiar creak of his chair the only sound in the room. He adjusted the paper, staring at the ink-stained keys. He was writing the story of a Lost Prince and a Stargazer. A boy and a girl bound by a celestial alignment who had been separated when the sky went dark. In his version, the Prince had failed to keep the girl safe, watching as she was pulled into a realm of eternal winter. The Prince had spent the entire second act wandering the frozen wastes, driven by a quiet void that mirrored the knot currently sitting in Mike’s own stomach.
But in fiction, you could rewrite the stars.
Mike took a breath and began to type. The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the keys filled the silence, a frantic, staccato heartbeat. He poured every unspoken word, every jealous sting, and every ounce of his lingering love into the machine, disguising it all behind metaphors of falling constellations and ancient vows.
He wrote the final chapter with a desperate intensity. In this world, the Prince didn't have to watch from the curb while the Stargazer drove away with someone else. In this world, the Prince found the way back before the ice set in.
He guided them through the final trial, writing the scene he had played out in his head a thousand times. He described the moment they reunited in the center of the celestial clock, the way the Stargazer looked at the Prince, not with pity, but with a recognition that they were two halves of the same constellation.
He didn't hold back. He gave them the moment he had let slip through his fingers in reality. He typed out the final sequence, where the two heroes, battered but together, shared a true lover’s kiss, a promise that reignited the sky and sealed their bond forever.
The Prince held her close as the first stars began to bleed back into the black. "I thought I'd lost the light," he whispered. She leaned her forehead against his, her voice a soft echo. "You were the only one who could find it." If he couldn't have that ending in real life, then at least in the ink and the paper, he could give them the peace he wasn't ready to find yet.
The End.
Mike typed the final words and let his hands hover over the keys, his fingers trembling slightly. He pulled the page from the roller, the sound of the paper tearing slightly against the mechanism echoing in the room, and set it on top of the finished stack.
He leaned back in his chair, the exhaustion finally hitting him, and his gaze drifted to the wall above his bed. There, taped carefully against the wallpaper, was the painting Will had given him. He looked at the vibrant colors, the dragon, the party, and the heart that Will had painted right in the center.
He looked at it for a long time, the fictional ending of his story still humming in his mind, protecting him from the cold reality of the night. The ache in his chest hadn't disappeared. It was still there, intense and heavy, but it didn't feel useless. He realized that if the pain wasn't going to leave him, he could at least give it a purpose. He could take all the things he couldn't say and bleed them into the ink, just as Will had poured his own soul into the paint. It wasn't the cure, but as Mike reached out to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, he thought maybe it was enough to help him survive.
_______________
Chance’s car rumbled softly as he killed the engine, the headlights cutting out to leave them in the semi-darkness of their spot. It was a small, gravel turnout near the edge of the quarry, high enough to see the scattered lights of Hawkins blinking below, but secluded enough that the rest of the world felt miles away.
The heater was still ticking as the warmth settled around them. Will pulled the collar of the varsity jacket he was wearing tighter around his neck. It was too big for him, the leather sleeves bunching at his wrists and the heavy wool settling over his shoulders like a weighted blanket, but he loved the way it smelled like cedar and Chance’s cologne. It was a scent that made Will’s nervous system finally unclench.
He reached down to his bag by his feet, rummaging past his sketchbook until his fingers brushed against the plastic case of a cassette tape. He had spent hours listening to this track in the quiet of his room, thinking of how much had changed since he first met the boy sitting next to him."I... I wanted you to hear this," Will said quietly, his heart thumping a jagged rhythm against his ribs.
Chance leaned back in the driver's seat, turning his head to watch him. The moonlight caught the sharp angle of his jaw, softening his expression. "Okay."
Will slid the tape into the deck and pressed play. The car was filled with the bright, soulful piano melody of "This Will Be Our Year" by The Zombies. The vocals were clear and sweet, carrying a sincerity that felt like a hand reaching out in the dark.
The warmth of your love is like the warmth of the sun
And this will be our year, took a long time to come.
Chance didn't speak. He didn't make a joke or tap his fingers on the wheel. He sat in total stillness, listening with a deep, focused attention, his eyes fixed on the dashboard as the lyrics washed over them. When the song finally faded into the faint hiss of the tape deck, Will reached out and stopped it.
Chance let out a long breath, shifting in his seat so he was fully facing Will. He reached out, his hand finding Will’s in the space between the seats, his thumb brushing softly over Will’s knuckles.
"You know," Chance started, his voice low and rough, like he was testing the words before letting them go. "Before... before all this, I felt like I was just going through the motions. School, practice, parties... it was all just so bland. I did it because I was supposed to."
He looked up, meeting Will’s eyes with an intensity that made Will’s breath hitch.
"But with you... it’s different. I cherish this, Will. I cherish just sitting here in the dark with you. I love the way we can just talk about nothing, or draw, or... or kiss, and it feels like the most important thing in the world." Chance squeezed his hand tighter. "You opened my eyes. You made me see that the world is so much bigger, and better, than I thought it was. You made me want to be part of that world."
Will felt a lump form in his throat, hot and tight. He had spent so much of his life feeling like he was on the outside looking in, like he was broken or wrong. Hearing Chance say that, hearing that he was the one who made the world better, felt like gravity shifting.
Chance leaned closer, his gaze dropping to Will’s lips before flicking back up to his eyes. "I love you, Will."
The words were quiet, simple, and terrifyingly easy.
Will felt a sudden, sharp intake of breath, his chest tightening with a rush of heat that made his fingertips tingle. Hearing those words come from Chance's mouth felt like a sudden clearing of the air, a long overdue confirmation that everything he felt was mirrored back at him. A soft, dazed smile broke across his face, his heart finally finding a steady, joyful rhythm as the reality of being loved washed over him.
"I love you too," Will whispered, the words tumbling out before he could overthink them. A smile spread across his face, small and genuine. "I love how... how easy you make everything feel. With you, I don't feel like I have to hide or pretend. You make me feel seen, Chance. Like I’m actually here. Like I matter."
Chance smiled then, a real, wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He leaned in, but before their lips even met, he paused, his gaze searching Will’s eyes with an intensity that felt like it was grounding them both.
"You matter more than anything," Chance murmured, his voice low and certain. He closed the remaining distance, his lips meeting Will’s in a brief, soft kiss. But the angle was awkward, and the center console pressed into his side, preventing him from really holding Will the way he wanted to. It wasn't enough.
A frustrated frown touched his lips as he pulled back just an inch, looking at the plastic barrier keeping them apart. He realized he simply couldn't handle the distance anymore."Come here," he whispered, his voice thick with a new kind of urgency. "Please. I just need to be close to you."
Will didn't hesitate. They both awkwardly scrambled into the back seat, limbs tangling for a moment in the cramped space before they settled into the leather seat. Freed from the separation of the front, Chance immediately pulled Will into him.
Will went willingly, burying his face in the crook of Chance’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. Chance’s arms wrapped around him tight, solid and grounding, one hand tangling into the hair at the nape of Will’s neck while the other pressed flat against his back, pulling him flush against his chest.
"There," Chance whispered into his hair, a long, shaky exhale escaping him as he finally relaxed. "This is better. I've wanted to do this all night."
Chance pulled back just enough to look at him, his thumb tracing the line of Will’s cheekbone with a reverence that made Will’s skin tingle. The air between them was electric, heavy with the words they had finally set free. When Chance leaned in, he didn't hesitate. The kiss was deep and earnest, filled with a sudden, sharp desire that had been building behind every polite smile and cautious glance they had shared in public during the week.
Will let out a shaky breath against Chance’s lips, his fingers clutching the fabric of Chance's shirt, pulling him closer as if he couldn't get enough of the warmth. It was a beautiful, dizzying heat. Between the slow, rhythmic presses of their lips, the words spilled out again, breathless and raw.
"I love you," Chance whispered against his mouth, his forehead resting against Will's. He sounded dazed, like he was still processing the fact that this was actually happening. "God, Will... I love you so much."
"I love you too," Will murmured back, his eyes fluttering closed as he leaned into the touch. "I love how kind you are to everyone, even when you don't have to be. I love how smart you are, and how you think about things so deeply even if you try to hide it from the rest of the world. And I love how brave you are, Chance. I love how you aren't afraid to go after the things you really want."
Chance was quiet for a second, his breath hitching as he pulled Will even closer. He rested his forehead against Will’s, his eyes searching Will’s face with a soft, bright intensity."You’re everything I wanted, Will," Chance whispered, his voice warm and steady. "I was happy before, but since I met you, everything just feels... sharper. You make me notice things I used to walk right past. I find myself looking at the world the way you do, being more attentive, seeing the beauty in things I never would have observed if it weren't for you."
He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Will’s forehead, his hand lingering there. "I think about that night in the woods all the time. My heart was racing so fast I thought you could hear it. I was so in awe by you, and I just knew I had to tell you the truth. It was the best decision I ever made. Every day since then, I just admire you more."
Will felt a surge of warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the heater in the car. He reached up, cupping Chance’s jaw, feeling the slight stubble beneath his palms. "I'm glad you did," he said softly. "I don't think I would have had the courage to say it first."
"Then I'll always be glad I beat you to it," Chance said with a small, tender smile.
He leaned in and kissed Will again, a slow and lingering press of lips that held the weight of everything they felt for each other. They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the faint whistle of the wind against the windows and the soft, repetitive rhythm of their kisses. Each "I love you" felt like it was filling a space in Will that had been empty for a lifetime.
Will drifted into the quiet space of Chance’s chest, his fingers still curled into the thick wool of the varsity jacket. The world outside the glass had completely vanished; there was no Hawkins, no school, and no expectations. There was only the steady, grounding heat of the person holding him. In the stillness, Will realized that the restless, searching ache he’d carried for as long as he could remember had finally gone quiet. He wasn't looking for an exit or a way to hide anymore. He just breathed in the scent of cedar and leather, tethered to the moment by the weight of Chance’s arms, feeling a profound, simple sense of belonging that he never had to struggle for.