Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mike had never wanted to curl up into a ball and ignore the entire world around him quite like he did standing at the gates of Hawkins High.

It looked overwhelming.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, either. Not in a “this is the beginning of an adventure” sort of way. It was overwhelming in the deeply practical sense—too many people, too much noise, too many variables all happening at once. The kind of overwhelming that made his shoulders tense and his stomach twist unpleasantly.

The building loomed in front of him, long and low and aggressively brown, like it had been designed by someone who hated teenagers. The brickwork was faded in places, darker in others, as if the school had aged unevenly and no one had bothered to fix it. The front doors yawned open, students streaming in and out with the kind of confidence that suggested they had never once questioned whether they belonged here.

Mike did not share that confidence.

The parking lot alone was enough to make him consider turning around and pretending he’d never gotten out of the car.

It was packed with rusty rattlers that could barely be described as vehicles—old trucks and sedans held together by zip ties, duct tape, and what Mike could only assume was blind faith. Some of them rattled ominously even while parked. Teenagers leaned against them like they were props, laughing loudly, gesturing wildly, existing in a way that felt almost performative.

Someone was blasting music out of blown speakers, bass thumping so hard Mike could feel it in his chest. He didn’t recognize the song, but it didn’t matter. It was loud for the sake of being loud. There were groups shouting over one another, voices overlapping into a constant roar. Someone—someone—was smoking a king-size cigarette at seven-thirty on a Monday morning, like that was a perfectly normal life choice to make on school property.

Mike stared at them, briefly wondering if this was a regional difference he hadn’t been warned about.

Yeah. He hated this.

He adjusted the straps of his backpack, tugging it higher on his shoulders like it might act as a shield. The familiar weight of it helped a little—textbooks, a spiral notebook, his lunch, his keys. The small Spiderman keychain clipped to the zipper swung when he shifted, catching the light. He considered, briefly, stuffing it into his pocket.

He didn’t.

His parents had tried very hard to prepare him for this moment.

“You’ll be fine, buddy. New start! Fresh faces, new school,” Ted had said cheerfully, as if Mike were headed to summer camp and not into the lion’s den.

Karen had nodded along, worry written all over her face. “And if you feel like you need a way out, call one of us. Or tell Nancy—she’ll bring you back.”

Nancy.

Mike glanced around automatically, even though he already knew she wouldn’t be there. She’d ditched him almost immediately after they’d arrived, offering a rushed hug and a vague wave before disappearing into the crowd with purposeful strides.

She’d made it clear she was a text away. That she’d come get him if he needed it. That he didn’t have to do this alone.

But still.

He kind of hated her for walking off without him.

And also kind of loved her for it.

Because being seen with his older sister on the first day of school felt like another label he didn’t need. The weird kid. The baby. The transfer who couldn’t handle things on his own.

He exhaled slowly.

Okay, he told himself. You’re here. You’re standing. Nothing terrible has happened yet.

He took a step forward.

Then another.

Crossing through the gates felt weirdly significant, like he was crossing some invisible threshold he couldn’t come back from. The noise seemed to spike immediately, locker doors slamming, laughter ringing out too close to his ears. Someone shouted a name that wasn’t his, but his shoulders jumped anyway.

Mike kept his head down, eyes fixed on the concrete in front of him. His Vans scuffed softly with each step. He tugged his sleeves down over his hands, fingers curling into the fabric.

Don’t look lost, he reminded himself.
Don’t stare.
Just walk.

He pulled his schedule from his pocket for the third time in as many minutes, pretending to read it while his eyes skimmed over room numbers he’d already memorized. The letters blurred slightly anyway.

Everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were going.

Mike felt like he’d been dropped into the middle of someone else’s life without a map.

He paused near the edge of the courtyard, heart thudding, taking it all in again—too much movement, too many voices, too many chances to mess something up.

He wondered, not for the first time that morning, if it would be too dramatic to fake a stomachache and go home.

Probably.

With a quiet sigh, he folded his schedule back up, squared his shoulders as best he could, and stepped further inside.

Mike kept his gaze firmly fixed on his own feet as he walked.

Which, as it turned out, was a terrible mistake. Because—

THUMP.

The impact knocked him back just enough to make him stumble, heart lurching painfully into his throat. His schedule slipped from his fingers and fluttered helplessly to the ground like it had already decided this day was a lost cause.

Mike barely had time to process what had happened before he registered it.

Green varsity jacket.
Broad shoulders.
Weirdly tall.

And then—wide brown eyes staring right at him.

Oh.

Oh no.

The guy turned fully toward him, and Mike’s brain immediately leapt to the worst possible conclusion.

Varsity jacket. Bulky build. Confident posture. The kind of person who took up space without apologizing for it. Mike could already picture it—some snide comment, a shove, laughter from nearby onlookers. The first-day horror story he’d been bracing himself for since home.

Yeah. This was it.

He might as well just succumb to his fate.

It had been a good run.

A solid five minutes of slipping under the radar before disaster struck.

Mike sucked in a breath and rushed to apologize, words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“Sorry—”

“Oh my god—! Dude, no, I am so sorry, that was totally my fault, here—”

Mike blinked.

Once.
Twice.

The guy was already bending down, long limbs folding awkwardly as he scooped Mike’s fallen schedule off the ground with surprising care. Mike’s brain lagged behind the moment, struggling to reconcile what he’d expected with what was actually happening.

He caught the name stitched across the back of the jacket as the guy straightened.

SINCLAIR.

Bold white letters against the green fabric.

The guy wiped the paper off on his jeans like it was precious cargo, then held it out to Mike with a sheepish grin that didn’t match the intimidation factor of his build at all.

“Here, man!” he said easily. “Dude—I wasn’t looking where I was going at all. I’m so sorry.”

Again.

Mike stared at him for half a second too long before snapping out of it and taking the schedule back.

“Thanks,” he muttered, shoving it hastily into his pocket like it might betray him if he held onto it any longer.

His heart was still racing, but now for entirely different reasons.

The guy didn’t seem to notice Mike’s internal crisis. He just rocked back on his heels, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, still smiling like this was the most normal interaction in the world.

“No worries, man! Is that a schedule?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “You new?”

Mike huffed out a breath despite himself.

“Very,” he sighed.

The guy’s grin only widened.

“Nice,” he said, like Mike had just confirmed something exciting. “Guess I gave you a pretty authentic Hawkins High welcome then.”

He chuckled, warm and easy, and stuck out a hand like they were meeting at a barbecue instead of in the middle of Mike’s worst anxiety spiral.

“I’m Lucas.”

Mike hesitated for just a fraction of a second before shaking it.

“Mike,” he said.

Lucas sighed happily, like he’d just solved a particularly satisfying puzzle, and eyed Mike a little more carefully.

“El is gonna love you,” he announced, completely unprompted.

Mike stiffened. “El?”

“Yeah,” Lucas said easily. “You’re like—” he paused, tilting his head as if recalibrating. “Her, if she was a dude.”

Mike opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“I… don’t know how to take that.”

Lucas laughed, loud and genuine, and then his gaze dropped to Mike’s backpack. His eyes zeroed in immediately, like a heat-seeking missile.

“Is that Spiderman?”

Mike glanced down at the small keychain swinging from the zipper, suddenly acutely aware of it.

“Oh. Uh—yeah.”

Lucas’s grin widened, somehow.

“Sick.”

Mike nodded wordlessly, still not entirely sure what the fuck was actually going on.

This had not been part of the script. At no point in his mental preparation had he accounted for a varsity-jacket-wearing stranger immediately deciding he was cool enough to be claimed by someone named El and complimenting his accessories.

“Come on,” Lucas said, already turning on his heel. He pulled his phone out and squinted at the screen. “We’ve got, like—” he tapped it once, then again, like it might argue with him. “Ten minutes before the bell rings.”

He looked back at Mike, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“Perfect opportunity to introduce you to my group.”

Oh.

Oh.

Mike’s stomach dropped again, but this time it wasn’t sheer terror—it was something closer to disbelief.

“Your… group,” he repeated faintly.

Lucas didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was already walking.

Mike followed blindly.

What was happening right now?

He let Lucas lead the way through the halls, weaving easily between clusters of students like this was second nature. People shifted aside without hesitation, stepping out of their path, calling Lucas’s name as he passed. Some nodded. Some waved. Someone clapped him on the shoulder as they went by.

Mike tried very hard not to stare. He kind of felt like he’d just acquired a body guard.

The jacket, he decided, was some kind of symbol of power. Like a badge that said safe or belongs here. He stayed close to Lucas’s shoulder, half-expecting someone to stop them and realize he didn’t belong in the slipstream.

No one did.

Lucas talked as they walked, gesturing animatedly like a tour guide who’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

“Okay, so—this hall?” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially as they turned a corner. “Near the History classrooms? Definitely haunted.”

Mike blinked. “It is?”

“Weird vibe when you walk through it,” Lucas said seriously. “Lights flicker sometimes. Feels… off. So stay away from that unless you have to, y’know. For history. Or if you’re into that.”

Mike snorted before he could stop himself.

“Into hauntings?”

Lucas glanced back at him, grin firmly in place. “Man, people like that shit now. Some kids were posted up with a Ouija board last Halloween.”

Mike raised an eyebrow.

“They got expelled,” Lucas added cheerfully.

“Good to know,” Mike said dryly.

They passed a vending machine humming ominously against the wall. Lucas pointed at it without slowing down.

“That one doesn’t work.”

“It looks like it works,” Mike said, eyeing the brightly lit buttons.

“Nope. Dustin will tell you it does,” Lucas replied. “But he just shakes it until it gives in. I’m pretty sure it’s built to scam you.”

Mike huffed out a laugh despite himself.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lucas shot him a pleased look, like he’d just earned a point.

They kept walking, the noise of the hallway swelling around them—lockers slamming, voices overlapping, shoes squeaking against the linoleum. Mike realized, distantly, that he wasn’t gripping his backpack straps anymore. His shoulders weren’t quite as tense.

He was still nervous. Still very aware that he was about to meet an entire group of people he didn’t know.

But somehow, walking beside Lucas, it felt… manageable.

Like maybe—just maybe—this place wasn’t going to eat him alive after all.

And then Lucas slowed, glancing ahead.

“Oh,” he said brightly. “There they are.”

Mike’s heart jumped straight into his throat.

He noticed the girl with the fiery red hair first.

It was impossible not to.

Her hair was wild in a way that definitely couldn’t be tamed, even by the ponytail she’d shoved it up into—loose strands escaping around her face, catching the fluorescent light like they were daring someone to comment on it. She leaned against the lockers like they were a throne she’d claimed years ago, arms crossed, one hip cocked with unmistakable confidence.

She had an aura.
An intimidating one.

The kind that said she had absolutely no patience for nonsense, and even less for people who wasted her time.

She was talking to another guy, her mouth moving animatedly as she gestured sharply, her expression hovering somewhere between disbelief and fond exasperation. Her face screamed, oh my god you’re an idiot, but the fact that she hadn’t walked away yet suggested she tolerated this particular idiot very well.

The idiot in question had very curly hair.

Mildly mop-like, Mike decided. Dark curls that bounced as he talked, hands flying wildly as he spoke at rapid speed, words probably tripping over each other. He was short and stocky, solid in a way that made him seem unmovable, and he was wearing a Wolverine shirt that looked like it had been loved within an inch of its life.

Mike watched him for half a second and thought, oh, he’s loud.

Not in a bad way. Just… energetically so.

There was another girl standing with them too, quieter than the others, posture straight and composed. Mike figured immediately that she had to be El, based on Lucas’s earlier description.

Her hair was slicked back into a neat, no-nonsense bun. She wore a white cable-knit sweater that hung softly off her frame, sleeves slightly too long. There was something about her that felt grounding even from a distance—calm, steady, like the eye of a storm.

She looked nice.

Comforting, even.

Mike had no idea what she was like yet, but his shoulders relaxed just a little in her presence.

And then—

Then there was the other guy.

Mike’s brain, traitorous and immediate, supplied: very nice looking guy.

He had layered, messy hair that looked effortless in the way that definitely wasn’t. The kind of messy you achieved on purpose, probably with a mirror and some degree of commitment. It fell around his face just enough to soften it, framing relaxed, kind eyes that were currently focused on the conversation in front of him.

He wasn’t talking. He was listening.

There was an amused smile playing at his lips, small and knowing, like he’d heard this particular rant before and found comfort in its familiarity.

He wore a hunter camo jacket over a tight black shirt, the contrast doing something deeply unfair to Mike’s ability to think clearly. Around his neck were layered chains—several of them—with different pendants resting against his chest.

Mike’s gaze snagged on one in particular.

Is that a bullet?

That seemed… intense.
Cool.
Probably dangerous.
Definitely not his business.

And his hands—

Mike’s brain stalled entirely.

They were just hands. Normal. Totally normal. Long fingers, relaxed grip, resting casually at his sides.

They were also adorned with several rings.

Very, very normal rings.

Mike forced himself to look away immediately, face heating for no reason he could logically explain.

Anyway.

Lucas slowed to a stop and turned back toward the group with an easy smile, hooking an arm lightly around Mike’s shoulder before he could react.

“Guys!” Lucas announced cheerfully. “This is Mike.”

Mike froze.

Lucas gestured to him like he was an art piece he was particularly proud of.

“I almost took him out in the hall,” he added. “He’s new. And cool.”

Mike’s brain short-circuited.

Cool?

He opened his mouth to protest, to clarify that there had been some sort of mistake, but the red-haired girl was already pushing off the lockers, eyes sharp and assessing as they landed on him.

“Oh?” she said, one eyebrow arching. “New blood?”

The mop-haired guy beamed immediately.

“Hey! Welcome!” he said, sticking out a hand without hesitation. “I’m Dustin. Don’t listen to anything she says about me.”

“I will absolutely continue saying things about you,” the redhead replied flatly, then looked back at Mike. “Max.”

El smiled softly, stepping forward just enough to be included.

“Hi, Mike.”

Her voice was gentle. Certain.

And then—

The other guy looked at him.

Really looked at him.

His eyes met Mike’s, and something warm settled in Mike’s chest, unexpected and disarming. The smile he offered was quieter than the others, softer.

“Hey,” he said.

Just that.

Mike swallowed.

“Hi,” he managed.

Lucas clapped his hands together like this was a job well done.

“Okay,” he said brightly. “Now that that’s settled—Mike, you wanna stay with us before first period?”

Mike looked at them.

At Max’s sharp grin.
At Dustin’s eager smile.
At El’s calm presence.
At the guy with the rings and the bullet necklace, still watching him like he was something worth paying attention to.

He nodded.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

“Great!” Dustin beamed, clapping his hands together like this was the highlight of his morning. “Currently I’m trying to explain to Max why mutations could technically happen under the right circumstances.”

Max stared at him, unimpressed, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“No,” she said flatly. “You’re trying to explain to me that one day you could become Cyclops. That’s not the same thing, dude.”

“It could happen, Max—”

Mike tuned it out.

Not intentionally. It just… happened.

Because the guy had moved.

Quietly. Like an annoyingly handsome ninja.

One second he’d been leaning back against the lockers, half-smiling at Dustin’s very passionate defense of comic book science. The next, he was standing beside Mike, close enough that Mike was suddenly very aware of the space between them. Or, more accurately, how little of it there was.

“Hi,” he said again.

Mike startled slightly, shoulders tensing before he could stop himself.

“Oh—hi.”

The guy smiled, softer this time. Less amused. More genuine.

“I’m Will.”

Will.

Mike’s brain latched onto the name immediately, turning it over like it was something solid he could hold onto.

Yeah.

That fit.

It fit in the way some names just did—quiet but confident, understated but memorable. A name that didn’t need to announce itself to be important.

“I’m Mike,” he replied, feeling suddenly very aware of his hands. He shoved them into the sleeves of his hoodie to give them something to do.

Will nodded, choosing mercifully not to mention how he already knew that, eyes flicking briefly to Mike’s backpack before returning to his face.

“Nervous?” he asked, voice calm, like he wasn’t already pretty sure of the answer.

“Is it that obvious?” Mike asked, wincing slightly.

Will’s smile tilted, just a little.

“Only because you’ve barely spoken a word.” he said. “Although Lucas seems to be doing a good job of talking for you.”

Mike huffed out a quiet laugh before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, he almost killed me.”

“That tracks,” Will agreed easily.

They stood there for a second, side by side, watching Dustin gesture wildly as Max continued to dismantle his entire argument with surgical precision.

“So,” Will said after a moment, glancing over at him again. “Where’d you move from?”

“Seattle,” Mike replied.

Will’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “That’s… far.”

“Yeah,” Mike said. “My parents thought a change of pace would be good.”

Will hummed thoughtfully.

“Well,” he said, eyes warm. “Hawkins is definitely… a change.”

Mike snorted.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Will smiled again, and this time it lingered.

Mike felt something strange settle in his chest—not nerves, exactly. More like a quiet pull. Like he wanted to keep standing here, listening to Will’s voice, letting the noise of the hallway fade into background static.

“Don’t worry,” Will added, lowering his voice slightly, like this was just for Mike. “They’re a lot, but they’re good people.”

Mike glanced at the group—at Max rolling her eyes, at Dustin arguing passionately, at Lucas watching them fondly, at El standing just close enough to be included without needing to be loud.

“I think I can tell,” he said.

Will nodded, satisfied.

“And if you get lost,” he continued, casually, “or overwhelmed, or just want to disappear for a bit—”

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.

“—you can sit with me.”

Mike looked at him.

Really looked at him.

At the calm certainty in his expression. The ease with which he offered it. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like Mike wasn’t an inconvenience.

“Okay,” Mike said softly.

Will’s smile widened, just a touch.

Somewhere behind them, Dustin’s voice rose in pitch. “I’m just saying, scientifically—”

“Dustin,” Max warned.

Mike barely noticed.

Because for the first time that morning, standing in the middle of Hawkins High, he didn’t feel like bolting.

He felt… anchored.

And that scared him a little more than anything else.

The bell hadn’t rung yet.

There were still five whole minutes left, which meant no one was scrambling just yet, no one rushing off with that panicked, end-of-the-conversation energy. Everyone lingered in loose clusters, leaning against lockers, talking over one another, killing time.

Max glanced over at Mike, her sharp focus cutting cleanly through Dustin’s continued rambling like a knife.

“What classes do you have first?” she asked him. “Before lunch.”

She pushed herself off the lockers as she spoke, physically disengaging from Dustin in a way that was very clearly deliberate.

Dustin paused mid-sentence.

“…Okay, well, first of all—”

“I’m done,” Max said, flatly.

Dustin straightened, beaming like he’d just been crowned king of the hallway. “I win.”

El smiled serenely. “Sure.”

Mike watched the exchange with mild alarm and fascination, then realized Max was still looking at him, waiting.

“Oh—uh.” He scrambled, tugging his folded schedule out of his pocket like it might bite him if he wasn’t careful. It unfolded awkwardly in his hands, creasing where it definitely wasn’t meant to crease.

He squinted down at it.

Why was it a grid?

Who decided this was the most intuitive way to communicate information?

There were letters. Numbers. Colors. Arrows. It looked less like a class schedule and more like something he should be using to solve a puzzle under time pressure.

“Um,” he said, turning it slightly, then back again. “Math, English, and History. I think?”

He looked up, uncertain.

Max didn’t even hesitate. She reached out and plucked the paper straight from his hands.

Mike made a small, startled noise but didn’t try to stop her.

She skimmed it quickly, eyes darting across the page with practiced ease.

“Sick,” she said. “You have the same morning classes as me.”

Mike blinked.

“I do?”

“Yep.” She handed the schedule back, already nodding to herself. “Means you won’t get lost. Or bored. Or stuck sitting next to someone weird.”

Dustin gasped. “Hey.”

Max ignored him entirely.

Mike stared at the paper like it had just revealed a secret passage he hadn’t known was there.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s—cool.”

Will, still standing comfortably at his side, leaned in just a little to glance at the schedule as well.

“Max is basically the school’s unofficial guide,” he said quietly. “You’re in good hands.”

Mike felt heat crawl up the back of his neck for reasons he refused to examine too closely.

“That’s debatable,” Max replied, though there was no heat behind it. “But I do know where all the tolerable teachers are.”

Lucas checked his phone again, then groaned. “Ugh. Three minutes.”

El tilted her head slightly, studying Mike with an unreadable expression. Not intense. Just… observant. Like she was quietly filing him away somewhere important.

Mike shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of how he fit—or didn’t—into the loose circle they’d formed. No one had moved away from him. No one seemed impatient. No one was treating him like a temporary inconvenience.

It was disorienting.

“So,” Dustin said suddenly, turning his full attention on Mike. “Seattle, huh? Do you guys really drink coffee like, all the time?”

Mike laughed, surprised by the sound of it. “Uh. Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Called it,” Dustin said smugly.

Max rolled her eyes again. “You ‘called’ nothing.”

The bell rang, sharp and loud, cutting through the hallway noise like a command.

People immediately began to move, the crowd shifting and breaking apart, voices rising, lockers slamming.

Mike’s chest tightened instinctively.

Will noticed.

“Hey,” he said, gentle, already stepping forward. “We’re heading this way.”

Max nodded toward the hall. “Stick with us.”

It wasn’t a question.

Mike nodded, heart thudding, and followed as they merged into the flow of students together.

Still standing.
Still breathing.
Still not alone.

Maybe Hawkins wasn’t awful.

Scratch what he’d thought earlier.

Hawkins sucked.

Or—okay. Hawkins High sucked. Specifically, the classes. The building itself was still intimidating but manageable. The people, surprisingly, were tolerable. The classes, however, felt like some kind of endurance test designed to see how long it would take before a student mentally checked out entirely.

The teachers all had the same general demeanor—like people who would rather be anywhere else. Like they were counting down the minutes until retirement, lunch, or the sweet release of the final bell, whichever came first. Their voices droned on endlessly, flat and unenthused, barely competing with the chaos of their classrooms.

The students were loud.

Not just loud—feral.

There was shouting across rows. Commentary delivered at full volume like the speaker genuinely believed the room had been waiting for their input. Pens were thrown. Someone laughed for no apparent reason. Someone else responded to a question without being called on, with the confidence of a person who had never once been told to stop talking.

Mike sat there, stunned.

Math was first.

Math sucked.

The woman teaching it paced slowly at the front of the room, writing equations on the board with the energy of someone fulfilling a contractual obligation. She kept repeating that it would all “make sense eventually,” in a tone that suggested even she wasn’t entirely convinced that was true.

Mike stared at the board, then at his notebook, then back at the board.

It didn’t make sense.

He copied everything down anyway, because old habits died hard, but the boredom settled in fast and heavy. Someone two rows back kept tapping their pencil against the desk in an arrhythmic nightmare that made Mike’s eye twitch.

At least Max was there.

She’d claimed the seat next to him like it was her birthright, dropping into it without even looking at him, tossing her bag down like they’d been doing this for years. When the teacher turned her back, Max leaned over and muttered, “She says that every year. It never makes more sense.”

Mike snorted before he could stop himself, quickly ducking his head when the teacher glanced their way.

Worth it.

English came next.

English was… English.

The room was too warm. The desks were too close together. The discussion dragged on far longer than it needed to, circling the same points like the class was afraid to move on. Mike recognized the book immediately, sank a little in his seat, and promptly checked out.

Yes, he’d read the classic.
Yes, he understood the themes.
Yes, he knew the symbolism.

Yes, that was probably why he’d never made any friends.

When the teacher asked a question, Mike stared very intently at the margin of his notebook. Max kicked his shoe lightly under the desk, grinning when he looked up.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t going to,” he whispered back.

She smirked like she knew better.

History was the last class before lunch, and it was… tolerable. Mildly interesting, if he was being generous. Hawkins had some genuinely weird local history—fires, disappearances, things that sounded like urban legends more than documented facts.

Mike wasn’t entirely sure any of it was true.

Still, it was better than math.

Someone in the back asked a question so wildly off-topic that even the teacher paused, clearly reconsidering her life choices. Max caught Mike’s eye and made a face, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

Throughout it all, Max stayed put.

She slid into the seat next to him every time, no hesitation, no discussion. She leaned over to make quiet, snarky comments under her breath, timed perfectly to derail his focus just enough to make things bearable.

Max, who shared looks with him when someone said something painfully stupid.
Max, who rolled her eyes in sync with his.
Max, who nudged his foot under the desk when he started zoning out too hard.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, Mike realized something unsettling.

He hadn’t checked the clock once.

As they packed up their things, Max slung her bag over her shoulder and glanced at him sideways.

“You survived,” she said.

“Barely,” Mike replied.

She grinned. “You’re doing great.”

And somehow, despite everything—despite the noise, the chaos, the mediocrity of Hawkins High—Mike believed her.

Max was cool.

She smiled at him as they wove their way through the halls, expertly dodging students, backpacks, and the occasional near-collision with someone sprinting like they were late for a life-or-death appointment.

The closer they got to the cafeteria, the louder it became.

Mike was pretty sure he could hear it from halfway down the hall—voices layered over voices, laughter echoing too loudly, the unmistakable sound of chairs scraping aggressively against tile. It felt less like a lunchroom and more like an enclosed ecosystem on the verge of collapse.

“Have you got food,” Max asked casually, adjusting the strap of her bag, “or do you need to queue to get something?”

Mike patted the front pocket of his backpack. “I have food from home. I think my mom would rather die than let me eat school cafeteria food.”

Max snorted. “Thank god. Because I genuinely couldn’t tell you what the fuck the food here is made of.”

She didn’t even hesitate before shoving the cafeteria doors open.

Noise hit Mike like a physical force.

It was chaos. Absolute, unfiltered chaos.

Students packed every table, bodies pressed too close together, conversations shouted instead of spoken. Someone was playing music off a portable speaker just a little too loud, the bass rattling unpleasantly through the floor. A group near the windows erupted into laughter so sudden and sharp that Mike flinched.

Out of the corner of his eye, he was pretty sure he saw someone get taken out by a hydroflask.

Hard.

Max, unfazed, scanned the room with quick efficiency, eyes darting over the crowd like she was used to navigating war zones.

Mike had no idea how she was ignoring the volume. Or the smell. Or the sheer energy of it all.

“There,” she said suddenly, grin spreading across her face.

Before Mike could ask what she meant, she grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie and dragged him decisively away from the doors, weaving between tables toward the far corner of the room.

“Come on,” she said over her shoulder. “I can see Dustin’s mop from here.”

Mike gasped. “That’s the first thing I thought when I saw him.”

Max laughed, glancing back at him. “See? And this is why we’re already getting along.”

They slid into the corner table where the rest of the group was already half-settled. Dustin was mid-sentence, arms moving wildly as he talked, Lucas leaning back in his chair with an amused expression. El sat beside them, calmly unpacking her lunch like the cafeteria wasn’t threatening to implode around her.

Max dropped her bag onto the bench and flopped down, immediately pulling her food out.

Mike followed suit, setting his backpack at his feet and taking a cautious seat beside her. He felt strangely… comfortable. Like he’d done this before. Like this was normal.

Max glanced around the table, brow furrowing slightly.

“Where’s Will?” she asked.

Mike’s stomach did a weird, unhelpful flip at the sound of his name.

El looked up, unfazed. “Behind the bike shed.”

Lucas nodded. “Smoking.”

“He’ll be back in a second,” El added helpfully, taking a sip of her drink. “He hides when he does it. Thinks he’s very subtle.”

Mike blinked.

“Oh,” he said, far too quickly.

Hiding behind the bike shed.
Smoking a cigarette.
Very subtle.

For reasons that were deeply embarrassing and completely unexplained, Mike felt warmth bloom in his chest.

Which was ridiculous.

Objectively ridiculous.

He didn’t know Will. He’d spoken to him for maybe three minutes. He absolutely should not care where he was or what he was doing.

And yet—

“Oh,” he said again, quieter this time, fiddling with the zipper of his lunch bag.

Max shot him a sideways look, lips twitching.

Lucas smirked.

Dustin, blissfully oblivious, launched into another rant about the injustice of the vending machines.

Mike listened, nodded in the right places, laughed when Max nudged him under the table—but some small, traitorous part of his attention stayed fixed on the cafeteria doors.

Waiting.

Which was, frankly, a problem.

Max leaned casually across the table and reached straight into the bag of chips sitting in front of Dustin.

Dustin, deep in the trenches of whatever rant he’d been mid-way through, didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and had simply decided this was a battle not worth fighting. He continued gesturing emphatically with one hand, the other still gripping his sandwich like it was a prop in his argument.

Max crunched loudly.

“Why does he even bother?” she said around the chip, nodding vaguely toward the cafeteria doors. “Everyone knows. He smells like smoke and that weird cologne he wears. It’s pretty obvious.”

Mike blinked, trying very hard not to choke on his own food.

El hummed thoughtfully, unfazed. She popped a grape into her mouth and chewed slowly, considering.

“I think it’s more so he doesn’t get caught by teachers,” she said. “He’s worried they’d call our parents.”

She paused, then added, completely sincere, “They definitely already know, though.”

Dustin finally seemed to tune back in.

“He’s gotta keep up his mysterious emo boy persona, dude,” he said solemnly, like this was a sacred duty.

Mike stared down at his lunch.

He quite liked the mysterious emo boy persona.

That was… concerning.

He shoved that thought aside as quickly as it had appeared, focusing very intently on unwrapping his sandwich.

The mysterious emo boy in question chose that exact moment to appear.

Like the universe had heard his name and decided to be funny about it.

Will was suddenly there, lingering just behind Dustin’s shoulder, quiet as anything. Mike noticed him instantly—his presence registering like a shift in the air. He’d just shrugged his camo jacket back on, hair a little messier than before, eyes bright and amused.

Will’s gaze flicked to Mike.

He smiled.

Not big. Not showy. Just for him.

Then he lifted a finger to his lips in a silent shh.

Mike’s heart kicked painfully against his ribs.

He fought back a smile, tugging the sleeve of his hoodie up to hide his mouth, eyes dropping for just a second before flicking back up.

Will leaned closer to Dustin.

“Boo.”

Dustin jumped out of his skin with a strangled yelp, whipping around so fast his chair screeched against the floor.

“Dude—Jesus Christ!” he gasped. “You scared the shit out of me!”

Max burst out laughing.

“Sit down,” Dustin added, already shoving his own backpack off the only free seat and onto the floor. “I literally saved you a spot, and that’s how you repay me?”

El smiled softly as her brother dropped into the chair beside her, completely unbothered, stretching his legs out under the table like he owned the place.

Will grinned, unrepentant, and turned toward Dustin.

“My hero,” he said dryly. “How could I ever have coped if you hadn’t?”

Dustin scoffed, but there was no real bite behind it.

Mike tried—failed—not to stare as Will settled in across from him.

Up close, Max was right.

He did smell like smoke and cologne.

Something warm. Slightly sharp. Comforting in an unexpected way.

Mike liked it.

He really liked it.

Which was deeply, deeply inconvenient.

He took a bite of his sandwich and focused very hard on chewing, shoving the thought down into the deepest, most locked-away corner of his brain.

This was fine.

Everything was fine.

It was just lunch.

Just a group of people who, somehow, already felt familiar.

And just a boy with rings on his fingers and a smile that made Mike forget how to breathe.

No big deal.

Dustin huffed dramatically, placing both his hands flat on the table and leaning forward until his fingers steepled together, posture so serious it looked like he was about to announce a corporate merger.

“Did anyone listen to what I just said?”

Max didn’t even look at him. She popped another chip into her mouth.

“Definitely not,” Lucas said easily, lifting his water bottle and taking a long sip. “Try again?”

Dustin nodded, accepting this with the solemnity of a man accustomed to being ignored.

“Okay,” he said. “I said—what are we doing after school?”

That got a few reactions.

Max leaned back against the bench, stretching her legs out and crossing her arms. “Why does it sound like you’re about to assign us homework?”

“Because,” Dustin replied, sitting up straighter, “I am a planner. A visionary. A pillar of structure in this friend group.”

“You collect rocks,” Max said.

“They’re minerals.”

El tilted her head slightly, eyes unfocusing for a moment as she considered the question. “We could go to our house.”

Will nodded almost immediately, like the answer had already been decided in his head. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

Lucas let out a long, suffering groan and dropped his head back so hard it thunked lightly against the lockers behind him.

“Why,” he asked the ceiling, “do we always end up at your place?”

Max shot him a look. “Because there is literally nothing else to do in Hawkins.”

“That’s not true,” Lucas protested.

She raised an eyebrow. “Name one thing.”

Lucas opened his mouth, confidence faltering almost instantly. He glanced around like the answer might be written on the wall somewhere.

“…There’s the arcade,” he offered.

Max stared at him.

“The one that smells like feet?” she asked.

“And despair,” Will added helpfully.

“That place should’ve closed in the eighties,” Max said. “And I’m being generous.”

Dustin brightened. “I like the arcade.”

“You like anything that lights up,” Max replied.

Mike stayed quiet through it all, chewing slowly, eyes darting between speakers as the conversation ricocheted around the table. It felt like watching a show that had been running for seasons before he’d joined—inside jokes, familiar rhythms, arguments that didn’t need resolutions because they’d happen again tomorrow.

He didn’t try to jump in.

Didn’t want to assume he was meant to.

He shifted slightly, knee bumping the underside of the table, fingers curling instinctively into the sleeves of his hoodie. He was happy just being there, listening, letting the noise wash over him.

And then—

“You’re invited.”

The words were quiet. Almost gentle enough to be lost under the cafeteria din.

Mike looked up.

Will had turned toward him fully now, body angled away from the rest of the table, like he’d instinctively carved out a pocket of space just for them. His voice was lower than it had been when he was talking to the others, softer, like he didn’t want to startle Mike.

“You’re invited,” he repeated. “If you want to come.”

Mike blinked, momentarily caught off guard.

“Oh—” he paused, then nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean—yeah. I’d like that.”

Will smiled.

Not the amused half-smile he gave Dustin. Not the dry one he gave Lucas. This one was warmer, slower. Like he was relieved.

“Okay,” he said simply.

Max watched the exchange with open interest, lips twitching like she was holding back commentary. El’s eyes flicked between them, something knowing in her expression. Lucas pretended very hard to be invested in the label on his water bottle.

Dustin clapped his hands once, decisive. “Cool. Byers house it is.”

Lucas sighed. “I’m bringing my own snacks this time.”

“You say that every time,” Will replied mildly.

“And every time,” Lucas said, “I am right.”

The bell rang, sharp and commanding, slicing through the cafeteria noise.

The room shifted immediately—chairs scraping, voices rising, backpacks being slung over shoulders. Lunch was over.

Mike stood with the rest of them, shouldering his bag, heart doing that weird, fluttery thing again.

Will lingered beside him as they fell into the flow of students heading out.

“I’ll walk you,” he said quietly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mike nodded.

“Okay.”

And as they stepped back into the hallway together, Mike realized something that made his chest ache in a way that wasn’t unpleasant at all.

He wasn’t counting the minutes until he could leave anymore.

He was already thinking about after school.

The rest of school was… okay.

Not good. Not great. Just survivable—which, considering how the morning had started, felt like a small victory. Mike drifted through his remaining classes in a haze of half-focus and quiet observation, shoulders still a little tense but no longer wound so tight he felt like he might snap.

He didn’t have any more classes with Max, which was a shame, because she’d been a constant, grounding presence all morning. But he did come to realize—about halfway through his schedule—that he shared one with El.

Art.

Which was really, really nice.

The classroom itself was calmer than the others. Sunlight spilled in through the tall windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air. There was soft music playing from somewhere near the teacher’s desk, low enough to fade into the background. The tables were scattered with sketchbooks and charcoal pencils and half-dried paint palettes.

El spotted him the second he stepped inside.

She didn’t wave. Didn’t call out. She just… moved.

She claimed the chair next to him immediately, pulling it out with her foot and sitting down like it had always been hers. When she looked up at him, she gave him that same quiet smile she’d worn all day—soft, reassuring, like it carried no expectations with it.

Mike felt his shoulders drop a fraction.

They lasted maybe ten minutes before the assignment fully defeated them.

Their sketches were bad.
Not charmingly bad.
Not “learning process” bad.

Just… horrendous.

El leaned over, squinting at Mike’s page, then snorted before she could stop herself. Mike looked over at hers and burst out laughing, clapping a hand over his mouth to keep the sound down.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Why does mine look like it’s melting?”

El giggled, covering her mouth with her sleeve. “I don’t know. Yours looks sad.”

“Yours looks haunted.”

She nodded solemnly. “It is.”

They dissolved into quiet laughter again, shoulders shaking, the kind of laughter that made the time pass faster without them even noticing.

At one point, El leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.

“I’m not the twin you want to end up with in art,” she whispered. “Will’s way better.”

Mike laughed softly, nodding. “Good to know.”

But the comment lodged itself firmly in his brain.

Because not only was Will dangerously attractive, he was also apparently talented.

Mike would like to formally file a complaint.

By the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Mike felt… lighter. Tired, sure—but in a good way. The kind of tired that came from using parts of himself he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back.

The most exciting part of the day, though, was the end.

He and El filed out of the art room together, sketchbooks tucked under their arms, and made their way toward the parking lot. The afternoon air was cooler, the sun lower in the sky, everything tinged with that golden, end-of-day softness.

The others were already there.

Posted up against a very, very beat-up looking van.

Mike slowed slightly at the sight of it, eyes flicking over the rust spots, the dented panels, the bumper that looked like it had survived several near-death experiences.

Lucas and Dustin spotted them immediately.

They both waved—enthusiastically, wildly—arms flailing like they were afraid Mike and El might vanish if they didn’t get their attention fast enough.

Max and Will stood just beside them.

They were smiling too, but noticeably less frantic. Max leaned casually against the van, arms crossed, posture relaxed. Will stood with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, weight shifted onto one leg, eyes lifting the moment Mike came into view.

El linked her arm through Mike’s without hesitation, tugging him forward gently like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Come on,” she murmured. “Before they implode.”

Mike laughed, letting himself be pulled along.

As they walked closer, Will’s smile softened—just a little, just for him.

Mike’s stomach did something weird.

Dustin grinned the moment they came to a stop beside the van, eyes bright and earnest like he’d been genuinely worried Mike might not make it through the day.

“Dude—you survived!” he said, pointing at him like this was an achievement unlocked.

Mike laughed, the sound easy, unguarded. “I did.”

The fact that Dustin looked genuinely pleased about it did something strange and pleasant to his chest.

He let his arm slip free from El’s as they stopped, not because he needed the space, but because it felt natural now—like he didn’t have to cling to anyone to stay upright.

Max turned toward him, one eyebrow arching. “Even without me?”

“Barely,” Mike said with a grin. “El saved me at the end.”

El nodded solemnly, like she’d just been handed a medal. “We are both very bad at art.”

Lucas snorted. Dustin laughed outright.

El turned her head toward Will then, her expression still gentle, but her eyes flickering with something Mike couldn’t quite read. Something knowing. Something twin-like and private.

“I told him you were the twin he should’ve ended up with,” she continued calmly. “You’d be a lot more help.”

Mike’s stomach did a small, traitorous flip.

Will’s ears flushed immediately, the pink blooming quick and unmistakable. He ducked his head for half a second, lips pressing together like he was fighting a smile, before he managed to respond.

“Yeah,” he said lightly. “I would’ve been.”

He glanced at El, eyes fond, teasing creeping into his voice. “Yours always looks slightly haunting.”

El’s smile widened, slow and pleased. “That’s what Mike said.”

Will’s gaze flicked to Mike.

Just for a moment.

Not long enough to be obvious. Long enough to be intentional.

Mike felt heat crawl up his neck and absolutely refused to examine why.

“Well,” Dustin said, clapping his hands together, oblivious as ever, “if we’re all done roasting each other’s artistic abilities—”

“We are not,” Max cut in.

“—can we go?” Dustin finished. “Because I am starving and Lucas keeps claiming the Byers’ snacks are ‘communal’ when we all know that’s not true.”

“They are communal,” Lucas argued. “You just eat like it’s your last meal.”

Mike watched them bicker, the easy way they filled the space around each other, and felt something settle deep in his chest.

Belonging.

Will shifted closer—subtle, almost imperceptible—but enough that Mike noticed. Their shoulders nearly brushed.

“You good?” Will asked quietly, voice softer than it had been all day.

Mike nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Will smiled again. That same warm, private smile.

“Cool.” He said.

Lucas swung the van door open with a dramatic flourish, stepping aside and bowing deeply as he extended a hand toward Max.

“My lady,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting all day to do that very thing.

Max rolled her eyes so hard Mike was briefly concerned they might get stuck that way.

She took Lucas’s hand anyway.

“Don’t let this go to your head,” she muttered, using his grip to push herself up and into the van with practiced ease. She twisted around immediately, bracing one knee on the seat so she could look back at Mike.

“Okay,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “You have two options here.”

Mike straightened instinctively.

“Option one,” Max continued, jerking her thumb toward the van, “you fight for your life in Dustin’s van—”

“It doesn’t have seatbelts,” Lucas added helpfully, already climbing in after her. “It’s also definitely not road legal.”

Dustin gasped, affronted, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. “It is road legal! And I will get the belts installed eventually!”

He hopped into the driver’s seat and shoved the key into the ignition, twisting it hard.

The van responded with a deeply concerning chug-chug-wheeze.

Dustin froze, shoulders hunched, whispering urgently at the dashboard. “Come on. Don’t do this to me right now. Not in front of the guy I’ve just met. Please.”

Mike bit his lip, stifling a laugh.

Max didn’t even look back.

“—or,” she continued smoothly, nodding toward the other side of the lot, “you can ride in Will’s car with him and El.”

Mike followed her gaze.

Will and El stood a few feet away beside a car that looked… objectively better. Newer. Cleaner. Less like it might fall apart if someone looked at it wrong.

“Which,” Max went on, ticking points off on her fingers, “is new, clean, has seatbelts, and doesn’t smell like old takeout and mild regret.”

Dustin scoffed. “That smell is history.”

“The choice,” Max finished, locking eyes with Mike, “is yours.”

Mike glanced back at the van.

Dustin was now hunched over the steering wheel, whispering fervently. “Please. I promise I won’t crash. Probably.”

The engine coughed again, then stalled completely.

Silence.

Dustin closed his eyes. “…Okay, that one was personal.”

Mike laughed under his breath and turned away before Dustin could see the full grin break across his face.

He looked at the Byers siblings.

El smiled at him, open and encouraging, like the answer was already obvious and whatever he chose would be okay.

Will lifted his keys slightly and gave them a small jingle.

Not smug.
Not showy.
Just… there.

Like an offering.

Mike’s chest did that stupid fluttery thing again.

“I think,” he said carefully, “I’m going to go with the option that doesn’t end with me on the evening news.”

Dustin groaned dramatically. “Traitor.”

Lucas laughed. “Can’t blame him, man.”

Max smirked. “Good choice.”

Mike stepped toward Will and El, suddenly aware of how close he was again, how easy it felt to fall into step beside Will without thinking about it.

“Shotgun?” El asked lightly.

Mike nodded. “If that’s okay.”

Will smiled. “Yeah. Totally.”

As Mike moved toward the car, he glanced back once more.

Dustin was still arguing with the van.

Lucas was already digging through a bag of snacks.

Max was watching him with a knowing look that made his ears burn.

And Will—

Will held the car door open for him.

Mike slid into the seat, heart still racing, a smile he couldn’t quite suppress tugging at his lips.

Will shut the door after him with a soft, solid thunk, the sound oddly reassuring. The car sealed Mike inside like a little bubble of calm, muffling the chaos of the parking lot immediately.

He exhaled without realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Will circled around the front of the car with easy confidence, sunlight glinting off the hood as he moved. The car itself was… nice. Like, really nice. Sleek lines, clean interior, the kind of car that looked slightly out of place in a Hawkins High parking lot full of rust buckets and duct-taped dreams.

Mike had a brief, distant thought about how this probably said something about Will that he wasn’t equipped to unpack yet.

Will slid into the driver’s seat and shut the door, the space filling instantly with the faint, lingering scent of cologne and smoke and something unmistakably him. He didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he settled back, one hand resting easily on the steering wheel, the other dropping to the stick shift like it belonged there.

Mike noticed.

He absolutely noticed.

El climbed into the back and settled herself comfortably in the middle seat, leaning forward slightly so she could see through the windshield, chin propped on her palms like she was settling in for a movie.

Will glanced out at the van, lips twitching.

“Wait for Dustin’s cube on wheels to choke to life,” he said calmly, “and then we’ll be on the move.”

El giggled, eyes fixed on the parking lot with rapt attention. “This is my favorite part.”

Mike followed her gaze just in time to see Dustin twist the ignition again.

Nothing happened.

Dustin slumped forward dramatically, forehead pressing against the steering wheel.

Then he tried again.

The van responded with a series of noises that Mike was pretty sure shouldn’t be coming from any vehicle that claimed to be roadworthy. It coughed. It rattled. It groaned.

And then—miraculously—it chugged to life, a thick plume of black smoke puffing out of the exhaust like a victory signal.

Even with the windows up, Mike could hear Dustin.

“Yes!” he shouted. “Let’s go!”

Mike laughed, the sound bubbling up before he could stop it. He covered his mouth with his sleeve out of instinct, shoulders shaking slightly.

Will snickered, finally turning the key in his own ignition.

The car rumbled to life instantly. Smooth. Effortless. Not a single concerning noise to be heard.

“Never,” Will said quietly, glancing over at Mike, amusement softening his expression, “get in that van. Please.”

Mike nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

Will smiled, clearly satisfied, and eased the car out of the parking space with practiced ease. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other resting comfortably on the stick as he shifted gears, movements fluid and unshowy.

Mike watched from the corner of his eye, fascinated despite himself.

The car moved smoothly onto the road, leaving the chaos of the parking lot behind. The van lurched forward a few seconds later, still coughing but undeniably mobile.

El sighed happily from the backseat. “He did it.”

“Against all odds,” Will agreed.

They drove with the windows cracked just enough to let the cool afternoon air slip in, sunlight washing over the dashboard. Music played quietly from the speakers—something low and mellow, not loud enough to demand attention.

Mike leaned back in his seat, feeling something unfamiliar settle over him.

Contentment.

He glanced over at Will again—at the relaxed line of his shoulders, the easy focus in his eyes, the way he checked the mirrors like he cared about the people in the car with him.

And for the first time that day, Mike didn’t feel like a guest.

He felt… chosen.

Which was dangerous.

But god, it felt nice.

El twisted in her seat to look out the back window, one knee tucked beneath her as she pressed her hands to the glass. She lifted one arm and waved enthusiastically at the van trailing behind them.

Mike followed her gaze, curiosity getting the better of him.

The sight made him laugh quietly.

Dustin was singing—belting, really—along to whatever song he’d chosen, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other flailing dramatically in time with the music. Lucas swayed from side to side in the passenger seat, clearly joining in, head bobbing with exaggerated seriousness. Max had been hunched over her phone, but she glanced up at just the right moment, caught El’s wave, and lifted her hand in return without missing a beat.

The van drifted slightly in its lane.

Mike decided not to comment on that.

El smiled to herself as she turned back around, settling into her seat again, clearly satisfied.

“So,” she said, bright and casual. “What’re we going to do?”

Will hummed thoughtfully, eyes still on the road. He flicked the indicator on with a soft click, hand moving easily back to the wheel.

“No idea,” he said. “Basement, probably.”

El nodded like that was exactly the answer she’d expected.

“After they’ve raided the kitchen for everything it’s worth,” Will added dryly.

Mike snorted before he could stop himself.

“That bad?” he asked.

“They’re like raccoons,” Will replied. “Unattended food doesn’t stand a chance.”

The road smoothed out as they turned into a quieter neighborhood, the noise of the main street fading behind them. Houses lined the road evenly, all neat and well-kept, lawns trimmed with care. Trees arched overhead, their leaves filtering the sunlight into soft, dappled patterns that slid lazily across the windshield.

It was… nice.

The kind of neighborhood Mike had only really seen in movies. Peaceful. Calm. Like nothing particularly bad ever happened here.

He watched it all pass by, the gentle curve of the road, the mailboxes, the occasional dog lounging in a yard, and felt something warm settle in his chest.

Then they slowed.

Will turned into a driveway.

Mike’s eyes caught on it immediately.

A police car was parked out front.

“Oh,” he said before he could stop himself.

El smiled knowingly from the backseat. “That’s Hopper’s.”

Mike looked back at the house—a modest, welcoming place with light spilling warmly through the windows. Nothing flashy, nothing intimidating. Just… lived-in.

And suddenly, the nice car made sense too.

Will pulled in smoothly, shifting gears with that same effortless motion, and cut the engine. The quiet that followed felt comfortable, like it belonged there.

“Welcome,” Will said, turning to him with a small smile.

Mike swallowed, nodding. “Yeah.”

Behind them, the van screeched into the driveway with all the grace of a dying animal.

Dustin whooped.

Mike laughed, unguarded, as he reached for the door handle.

He had a feeling—one he didn’t quite want to admit yet—that this place was going to become important to him.

And that scared him.

Just a little. But not enough to make him leave.

Dustin hopped out of the driver’s seat of the van like he’d just completed a flawless Olympic routine, arms thrown wide in triumph.

“She made it!” he announced proudly.

The van ticked ominously behind him, engine still rattling like it was catching its breath.

Max climbed out after him, slamming the door shut with practiced ease. She shot Dustin a flat look.

“By the grace of god,” she said.

Then she turned to Mike, who was still lingering by Will’s car, amusement tugging at his mouth.

“I’m glad you didn’t follow me into the van,” she added.

Mike laughed, nodding. “Me too.”

They gathered themselves and headed up the steps toward the house, Dustin already launching into a story no one had asked for. Will reached the front door first, keys out, unlocking it with the same easy familiarity he’d driven with.

He pushed the door open and slipped inside without hesitation.

The others followed immediately, pouring in like this was a second home—shoes kicked off haphazardly, backpacks dropped wherever gravity decided they should land. Lucas leaned his against the wall. Dustin abandoned his halfway down the hallway. Max toed her sneakers off with minimal effort.

Mike hovered just inside the doorway, suddenly very aware of his body again.

His hands felt… wrong. Like they didn’t belong anywhere.

He watched the others for a beat, then bent down and slipped his shoes off carefully, tucking them neatly beside the door. Straightened them. Adjusted them again, just to be sure.

Then he followed.

They drifted naturally toward the kitchen, voices overlapping, laughter echoing softly through the house. The space opened up into something warm and lived-in—sunlight through the windows, the faint hum of appliances, the smell of something comforting lingering in the air.

Mike noticed the people before anyone said anything.

Two adults.

Undeniably parents.

His stomach tightened instantly, that familiar spike of anxiety curling low and sharp. He slowed half a step, heart thudding, suddenly very aware that he was in someone else’s space.

The others didn’t even hesitate.

They moved through the kitchen like they belonged there. Like they’d done this a thousand times.

The woman looked up first, smiling warmly as soon as she saw Will and El.

“Welcome back!” she said. “Good day?”

“Yeah,” Will replied easily, returning the smile.

“Very good,” El added, nodding with quiet certainty. She glanced toward Mike, eyes bright.

The woman followed her gaze—and immediately beamed.

“Oh!” she said, delighted. “Hi, honey—I haven’t seen you before. I’m Joyce.”

She stepped closer without crowding him, kindness radiating from her.

“Do you need anything?” she asked. “Water? Tea?”

Mike froze for half a second, then scrambled to respond.

“Oh—no, no, I’m okay,” he said quickly. “Thank you.”

The man sitting at the table glanced up from his phone then, eyes sharp but not unkind. He studied Mike for a brief moment before offering a small, gruff smile. Hopper- Mike presumed.

“Don’t have to linger,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable. Everyone else does.”

Mike swallowed.

“Okay,” he said softly.

And somehow—between Joyce’s warmth, Hopper’s blunt reassurance, the way the others moved around him without expectation—it didn’t feel like a test.

It felt like an invitation.

Will lingered nearby, just close enough to be grounding. He glanced over at Mike, offering a quiet, reassuring smile.

Mike smiled back.

And for the first time that day, the anxiety didn’t win.

Joyce nudged one of the kitchen chairs out with her foot, the legs scraping softly against the floor.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” she said, smiling at Mike like it was the most natural thing in the world. She gestured toward the table, then nodded her head toward the man beside her. “That’s Hopper, by the way.”

Mike hesitated for half a second before taking the offer, lowering himself into the chair carefully, like he didn’t want to take up too much space. He tucked his hands safely into the sleeves of his hoodie, fingers curling into the familiar fabric.

“Nice to meet you,” he said politely.

Joyce’s smile widened.

“Oh, you’re so polite,” she said, clearly delighted. “You should teach Dustin a thing or two.”

“Hey!” Dustin protested, popping back up from the fridge with a drink already in hand. He grinned unabashedly. “Hi, Joyce!”

“Hi, Dustin,” Joyce replied fondly, shaking her head.

Hopper set his phone down on the table and reached for the empty mug sitting in front of Joyce. He stood, carrying it over to the sink and setting it inside with care that didn’t quite match his gruff exterior.

“The basement’s clean,” he said casually, glancing back toward Will and El. “Your mom’s been down there sorting things out again. Figured that’s where you’d end up.”

El nodded immediately, like there was no other option. “Always.”

She giggled softly, already drifting toward the doorway.

Will lingered just long enough to grab a drink from the counter, then turned back to Mike.

“You coming?” he asked gently.

Mike looked around the kitchen one more time—at Joyce humming quietly as she wiped down the counter, at Hopper leaning back against the sink, at the way the space felt lived-in and safe.

“Yeah,” he said, standing quickly. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

They moved through the house together, the others already halfway down the stairs, voices echoing faintly ahead of them. Mike followed Will, noticing the way he slowed slightly to match his pace without making it obvious.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and warm light spilled out from below.

The basement was cozy.

That was the first thing Mike thought as he descended the steps, hand trailing lightly along the banister. Not cold. Not dark. Not the unfinished, echoing space he’d half-expected. It felt… intentional. Lived in. Loved.

Mismatched lamps dotted the room, casting warm pools of light that overlapped in a way that made the shadows soft instead of sharp. Fairy lights were strung haphazardly along one wall, glowing faintly, some bulbs warmer than others like they’d been added at different times. Two old couches were pushed together in the center of the room in an L formation, their cushions slightly sunken in the middle from years of use.

There were armchairs too—ancient-looking ones, the kind that had definitely seen better decades—absolutely buried under an unreasonable number of pillows. It looked less like furniture and more like a strategic fort.

The walls were covered.

Posters—some faded with time, edges curled and colors muted, others newer and brighter—layered over one another like a timeline of interests. Between them were family photos, frames crooked and mismatched.

Mike’s gaze lingered there.

El and Will as kids—missing teeth, awkward smiles, arms slung around each other. Another older sibling he didn’t recognize yet, taller, older, smiling with an arm around them both. His eyes snagged on one photo in particular and he smiled without meaning to.

A very young Will.
A very bad bowl cut.
The most serious expression imaginable.

Mike bit back a laugh.

Lucas was the first to claim territory, launching himself dramatically onto one of the couches and landing flat on his back, arms spread wide. He laced his fingers behind his head with a satisfied sigh.

“Home sweet home, dude.”

Max immediately shoved his legs off the couch with her foot and plopped down beside him.

“Get your feet away from me.”

Lucas groaned but complied, shifting just enough to be tolerable.

Dustin and El took up residence in the armchairs, Dustin sprawling with zero regard for personal space, El carefully arranging a pillow on her lap before settling in, posture relaxed and content.

Which left—

Mike’s eyes flicked to the remaining open spot.

Next to Will.

On the only free couch.

His stomach did that strange, traitorous flip again.

He hesitated for just a second—long enough to be noticeable only to himself—then crossed the room and sat down carefully, leaving what he hoped was a normal, casual amount of space between them.

It was not enough to stop the flippy feeling.

Will sat easily beside him, shoulder relaxed, knee angled slightly toward Mike without seeming to think about it. He reached forward to grab a pillow from the pile and tucked it behind his lower back, settling in like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

“Comfortable?” Will asked quietly, glancing over.

Mike nodded, hands curling into his sleeves again. “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

Will smiled at that. Soft. Proud, somehow.

“Good.”

Mike leaned back slightly, taking it all in—the warmth, the noise, the casual way everyone fit together. The way no one questioned his presence. The way it felt like he’d stepped into something already built, already safe.

His stomach flipped again.

He failed, spectacularly, at ignoring it.

Dustin shoved one of the pillows off the armchair, letting it tumble dramatically to the floor.

“Okay!” he announced. “Now what?”

Lucas grinned lazily from the couch. “Dude, can’t you be content to just exist for, like, one second?”

Dustin shook his head immediately. “Absolutely not.”

Max snorted. “Shocking.”

The conversation dissolved into overlapping voices almost instantly—suggestions being thrown out, shot down, resurrected, and immediately argued over again. Arcade. Movies. Games. Someone mentioned snacks. Someone else accused them of already eating all the snacks.

Mike let it wash over him.

He didn’t feel the need to jump in. Didn’t feel left out, either. He leaned back into the couch, listening, giggling quietly to himself when someone said something particularly stupid. His shoulders were loose now, his breathing easy.

Then his phone vibrated.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Mike frowned slightly and pulled it from his pocket, squinting down at the screen.

nance: mike I am sat in the parking lot one minute away from sending out a search party
nance: pls tell me ur alive I don't wanna have to tell our parents ur dead
nance: or kidnapped because apparently that used to happen here a lot if history was anything to go off

Mike’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Oh—shit,” he whispered.

Max immediately paused mid-argument, turning toward him. “Mike? You okay?”

He looked up quickly, nodding. “Yeah! Yes. I just—uh—I forgot to tell my sister where I was going.”

Lucas grimaced sympathetically. “Uh oh.”

“It’s okay,” Mike said quickly, waving it off like it was no big deal. “I just need to tell her I’m alive and haven’t been abducted.”

Dustin nodded solemnly, as if this were a completely reasonable concern. “Important.”

Then, without missing a beat, he launched straight back into the argument about whether the arcade technically counted as cultural enrichment.

Mike typed quickly, thumbs flying.

mike: I am so sorry
mike: I am alive and at a friends?? house

There was a pause. Just long enough to make his stomach twist.

Then—

nance: FRIENDS
nance: shit don't let me stop u I'll let our parents know
nance: I'll let our whole extended family know I'm so proud

Mike giggled out loud before he could stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth.

Will glanced over, curious. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, still smiling. “She’s just… aggressively supportive.”

Will smiled at that, something warm flickering in his eyes.

“Good,” he said softly.

Mike tucked his phone away, heart light, and leaned back into the couch again. The bickering continued. The lights glowed softly. Someone laughed too loud.

Mike felt at home.

Eventually, the group settled on watching a movie.

It wasn’t a great movie, but the choices hadn’t exactly been stellar to begin with. Dustin had very nearly been physically restrained from picking The Room, and Mike had never been more grateful for Max in his entire life.

“I swear to god,” she’d said, jabbing a finger at Dustin’s chest, “if you put that on, I will leave.”

Dustin had sulked. Briefly. Then agreed, because even he knew when he’d lost.

They’d switched off a few of the lamps after that, the basement dimming into something softer and more intimate. Fairy lights stayed on, glowing faintly along the walls, and one stubborn lamp refused to cooperate despite El’s best efforts.

“Mom didn’t tidy,” El muttered, crouched on the floor and patting around near the wall. “She literally evaporated the switch.”

Lucas snorted. “Classic Joyce move.”

The movie started up shortly after, the opening credits flickering across the screen. The room settled into a comfortable hush, punctuated by commentary and the occasional burst of laughter.

Mike found himself… invested.

Which surprised him.

He leaned forward slightly at first, elbows resting on his knees, eyes glued to the screen. He laughed along with Max’s dry, perfectly timed remarks and Dustin’s increasingly unhinged commentary. Dustin, who had apparently appointed himself the official continuity supervisor.

“His mic pack is literally hanging out of his jeans,” Dustin whispered loudly, scandalized.

“No it’s not,” Lucas said.

“It absolutely is,” Dustin insisted.

Mike laughed, shoulders shaking quietly, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. He didn’t even realize when he leaned back again, sinking into the couch, body relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt all day.

He was comfortable.

Then—

Will stretched.

It was subtle. Easy to miss if Mike hadn’t been right there.

Will let out a quiet grunt, lifting his arms over his head, shoulders rolling as he stretched out the stiffness of sitting too long. The movement was unthinking, completely absentminded.

Naturally, without looking, he dropped one arm down along the back of the couch.

Outstretched.

Behind Mike.

Mike froze.

Not visibly. Not dramatically. Just… internally.

Every muscle in his body went very, very still.

It was nothing. Just an arm. A casual, thoughtless movement. The kind of thing anyone might do when they got comfortable.

He knew that.

His brain knew that.

Unfortunately, his heart had other opinions.

It spiked sharply in his chest, a sudden, traitorous thump-thump that made his breath hitch for half a second. He became acutely aware of the warmth radiating from where Will’s arm rested just behind him. Not touching. Not quite.

Close enough.

Mike stared straight ahead at the screen, suddenly hyper-aware of his own posture. Of the way he was sitting. Of how close he actually was to Will now.

He felt ridiculous.

Absolutely ridiculous.

Will hadn’t meant anything by it. Hadn’t even looked at him. He was still watching the movie, expression relaxed, eyes reflecting the glow of the screen, utterly unaware of the internal chaos he’d just caused.

Mike swallowed.

Forced himself to breathe.

It’s fine, he told himself. You’re fine. It’s just a couch. Just an arm.

But his heart refused to calm down, and the movie faded slightly into the background as his world narrowed to that single point of awareness—Will’s arm behind him, solid and warm and there.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t lean in.

Didn’t lean away.

And he stayed there.

igid. Hyperaware. Every nerve ending lit up like a live wire, his entire body acutely conscious of the warmth behind him, of the space Will was occupying without actually touching him. Mike stared at the screen, blinking a little too often, trying to absorb literally anything other than the fact that Will’s arm was still there.

The movie characters spoke. The plot progressed. Someone on-screen said something dramatic.

Mike did not hear a single word of it.

Then—

The screen froze.

The sudden pause cut through the room like a snapped thread.

“Dude!” Dustin wailed instantly, throwing his hands into the air and gesturing wildly at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. “They are literally about to kiss. You picked the worst possible moment.”

Will shifted beside Mike, the movement finally breaking the spell.

He stood, stretching again—longer this time, muscles rolling under his shirt—before stepping over the back of the couch with casual ease. Mike felt the absence of that arm like a phantom limb.

“And I’m literally about to die of dehydration,” Will said over his shoulder, already halfway up the stairs. “You’ll live.”

Dustin collapsed back into his chair dramatically. “This is a hate crime.”

Will laughed, the sound light and familiar, and then the basement door clicked shut behind him.

The quiet that followed was immediate.

Mike’s body reacted before his brain could catch up.

His shoulders sagged. His spine curved back into the couch cushions. He exhaled slowly, deeply, like he’d been holding his breath for far too long without realizing it. One hand came up to rub at the back of his neck, fingers pressing into skin that felt too warm.

God.

He stared at the paused screen, heart still racing, trying to get it to calm down.

El had been watching him.

Not in a way that felt invasive—just attentive. Observant. Like she’d clocked every micro-expression, every shift in posture.

She smiled now. Small. Knowing.

“He did that on purpose.”

Mike turned his head too fast. “Huh?”

“The arm thing,” El clarified calmly, like she was stating a simple, obvious fact.

Max stretched, legs sliding out until they landed squarely in Lucas’s lap. Lucas made a small protesting noise but didn’t move them.

“He absolutely did that on purpose,” Max added.

Mike’s brain short-circuited entirely.

“I—” he made a vague, helpless gesture with one hand. “He just stretched?”

Max stared at him.

Really stared.

“Mike,” she said slowly, “he did not just stretch.”

Lucas snorted. “That was straight out of a movie.”

Dustin leaned forward, eyes gleaming with delight. “Yeah! I think we literally saw that exact thing happen in this movie like, what—thirty minutes ago?”

Mike’s face felt like it was on fire.

“That—no,” he said weakly. “That’s not—he wasn’t—”

El nodded serenely. “I know my brother.”

She tilted her head, smile unwavering.

“He did it on purpose.”

Mike stared at them all, chest tight, heart pounding in a way that felt suspiciously hopeful.

“That’s insane,” he said, voice a little breathless. “You’re all reading way too much into it.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “You froze.”

“I did not freeze.”

“You absolutely froze,” Lucas said.

“Like a deer in headlights,” Dustin added helpfully.

Mike groaned and dragged his hands down his face, palms warm against his cheeks. “You’re all actually unbearable.”

El’s smile softened then. Lost its teasing edge.

“He likes you,” she said gently.

The words settled into the room.

Mike peeked at her through his fingers.

“That’s not—” he swallowed. “He barely knows me.”

El shrugged lightly. “He knows enough.”

Before Mike could respond, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Everyone snapped back into place immediately—eyes forward, expressions neutral, like they hadn’t just detonated Mike’s entire sense of reality.

The basement door opened.

Will came back down holding a drink, pausing briefly to scan the room. His eyes flicked to Mike for just a moment—warm, unreadable, lingering a second too long—before he crossed the room and reclaimed his spot on the couch.

He sat.

Stretched again.

Didn’t put his arm back.

Which somehow made everything worse.

Mike swallowed hard, heart racing anew, and forced his gaze back to the screen as Will unpaused the movie.

The characters kissed.

Dustin cheered.

Mike didn’t notice.

Because now he knew—
nothing about that moment had been accidental.

And that thought settled deep in his chest, equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t look.

But he stayed.

And that felt like a choice.

The evening spiraled on in that easy, unmeasured way that only happened when no one was checking the time.

The movie ended. Another one started and barely held anyone’s attention. Conversations branched off and tangled together, drifting from half-serious debates to inside jokes Mike didn’t fully understand yet but still found himself laughing at. Someone changed the music. Someone else complained about the volume. At some point, someone lay fully across the floor, staring up at the fairy lights like they were constellations worth memorizing.

Outside, the light shifted.

The sun dipped lower and lower, golden glow fading into something dusky and blue. The basement grew darker, fairy lights and lamps doing most of the work now, shadows stretching lazily along the walls. The space felt even cozier somehow—smaller, warmer, like the world outside had gently receded.

Eventually, Dustin checked his phone.

He squinted at the screen, then sighed dramatically and let his head fall back against the armchair.

“Alright,” he announced, voice heavy with the weight of responsibility. “Home time, boys and girls. We’ve got another shift in hell in, like, twelve hours.”

Max groaned in solidarity. “Don’t remind me.”

Lucas nodded grimly, pushing himself to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. “I’ve got practice at six.”

He paused.

“Six,” he repeated, like he needed everyone to understand the severity of this crime.

Dustin flipped his keys around his finger with exaggerated confidence. “Come on, everyone who doesn’t live here. The rattler’s waiting, and I can feel it in my bones—she’s gonna start first time. There’s something in the air.”

Max slid off the couch and grabbed her jacket, glaring at him. “If I didn’t live half an hour away, I’d rather walk.”

“Liar,” Lucas said fondly.

The room shifted into that end-of-hangout mode—things gathered, jackets pulled on, lingering conversations wrapping themselves up slowly, like no one quite wanted to be the first to leave.

Mike stood, tugging his hoodie sleeves down again, heart sinking a little despite himself. He hadn’t checked the time once. Hadn’t felt it pass.

Will caught his eye.

“I’ll drive you home.”

The words were simple. Casual. Like they’d already been decided.

Mike blinked. “I—are you sure? That’s—”

Will smiled lazily, one shoulder lifting in a shrug, eyes warm in the low light.

“You promised you’d never set foot in Dustin’s van.”

Dustin gasped. “Wow. Betrayal.”

Mike laughed, heat creeping up his neck. “I didn’t promise, I was coerced.”

“Same thing,” Will said lightly.

El smiled at both of them, already sliding off her chair. “I’ll stay.”

“Basement’s all yours, then.” Will told her.

Mike nodded slowly, nerves fluttering again—but softer this time. Not fear. Anticipation.

“Okay,” he said.

They headed upstairs together, the sound of the others’ voices drifting behind them, the evening air cool and calm waiting just beyond the front door.

And as Will grabbed his keys from the counter, glancing back to make sure Mike was right there, like he’d been worried about losing sight of him for longer than a second.

Miraculously, Dustin’s van started on the first try.

The engine roared to life with a triumphant, rattling growl, and Dustin let out a whoop so loud it echoed off the houses.

“The rattler lives!” he yelled, sticking his head out the window. “I told you—I fucking told you all!”

Lucas cheered. Max clapped sarcastically.

Mike found himself laughing along, the sound spilling out of him easily, genuinely. It felt good—light, unforced. Like laughter that didn’t need to be monitored or reined in.

Will opened the passenger door for him again, holding it open patiently while Mike slid inside. The seat was warm from what little sun had remained, familiar already. Will shut the door gently behind him, then circled around and climbed into the driver’s seat.

They both looked out the windshield as the van lurched forward.

Lucas, Dustin, and Max waved enthusiastically as Dustin peeled out of the driveway without signaling, tires squealing faintly as he shot down the road like he was being chased.

Will shook his head slowly, one corner of his mouth lifting.

“He’s going to kill them one day,” he said, fond but resigned, as he turned the key.

The car rumbled to life instantly—smooth, steady, controlled. Such a stark contrast it almost felt intentional.

Will glanced over at Mike, then reached for his phone and handed it to him, already unlocked, maps app open and waiting.

“Pop your address in,” he said easily. “Because I have no idea where I’m going.”

Mike took the phone gently, careful not to brush Will’s fingers even though part of him was painfully aware of how close they were. He frowned at the screen, squinting slightly.

“I barely know it myself,” he admitted.

He typed in the road name slowly, then hesitated before adding what he was about ninety percent sure was his postcode. He stared at it for a second, then shrugged internally and handed the phone back.

“That’s… probably right.”

Will took it without comment and propped it up on the dash, glancing at the route with a hum.

“Good enough,” he said, smiling. “We’ll figure it out.”

He eased the car out of the driveway smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other shifting gears with that same effortless confidence Mike had noticed earlier. They rolled onto the road quietly, the neighborhood slipping past them in soft, darkening blues and golds.

The windows were cracked just enough to let the cool evening air drift in. The radio played low, something mellow, barely there. Streetlights flickered on one by one as they drove.

Mike leaned back in his seat, watching the familiar-unfamiliar streets pass by, heart full in a way he didn’t quite know how to name.

He found himself studying Will as he drove.

Not creepily. He hoped, anyway. Not in a way that felt invasive or strange—just… observing. Like his brain had finally been given the space to actually process him without the noise of everyone else around.

Will was handsome.

Mike had noticed that earlier, obviously. His stomach, his brain, his heart had all made that achingly clear the moment he’d laid eyes on him in the hallway. But this—this was different. Being this close to him, just the two of them, the car humming softly beneath them—it made everything sharper.

More intimate.

He noticed the strength of Will’s jaw first. Strong in an annoyingly unfair way, softened only slightly when he smiled. There was a small mole near his nose that Mike hadn’t clocked before, and now that he had, his eyes kept drifting back to it like it was a landmark.

Will’s eyes were focused on the road, sharp and attentive—but when he glanced over at Mike, even briefly, there was something softer there too. Something warm. Something that made Mike’s chest tighten in a way that felt almost reverent.

And then—

Then his brain betrayed him completely.

Will had pushed his sleeves up when he’d started driving. Just enough. Casual. Thoughtless.

Biceps.

Actual, real biceps—muscle shifting subtly beneath skin as he turned the wheel, tendons flexing when he shifted gears. They’d been completely hidden by the camo jacket earlier, and now Mike couldn’t unsee them.

He swallowed.

His mind offered up a deeply unhelpful thought about what it might’ve felt like if he’d leaned back earlier. If he’d let himself rest there. If—

He shut that down immediately.

Deep. Deep down.

“So,” Will said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Mike startled just a little, eyes snapping forward. “Yeah?”

“How was your first day?” Will asked, voice easy, like this was a normal question and not one that had Mike’s pulse spiking again.

Mike considered it for a second.

“Honestly?” he said. “Not… terrible.”

Will smiled. “That’s high praise.”

“I mean, it started out rough,” Mike admitted. “I thought I was going to die in the parking lot.”

Will laughed softly. “Yeah, that checks out.”

“But then,” Mike continued, glancing over at him again, “Lucas ran into me. And everything kind of… shifted.”

Will nodded slowly. “He has that effect on people.”

Mike smiled. “I’m glad he did.”

There was a comfortable pause after that. The kind that didn’t need filling.

Will flicked the indicator on, the soft clicking sound settling into the rhythm of the drive.

“I’m glad you came over,” Will said quietly.

Mike’s heart did a small, traitorous leap.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Will replied. “I think you fit.”

The words were simple. No pressure. No expectation.

But they landed heavy all the same.

Mike looked out the window for a second, watching the streetlights blur past, then nodded.

“I… really like it here,” he said. “Everyone’s—nice. It’s weird.”

Will smiled at that. “You get used to it.”

Mike doubted that.

He shifted slightly in his seat, then glanced back over at Will again—at the set of his shoulders, the ease with which he occupied the space, the quiet confidence he carried without needing to announce it.

Will eased the car to a stop at a red light.

It was a completely pointless red light. The kind that existed purely to mock you. The street was empty in every direction, no headlights in sight, no movement except the slow hum of the engine beneath them.

Will leaned back slightly in his seat, stretching his shoulders before cracking his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet car.

Mike’s attention drifted without his permission.

To Will’s hands.

He didn’t mean to stare. He really didn’t. But they were right there—resting easily on the wheel, relaxed, familiar now. The rings caught the glow of the streetlight filtering in through the windshield, metal flashing briefly as Will shifted his grip.

Mike studied them, one by one.

Some were simple. Some were heavier, more worn. All of them looked like they’d been there a long time, like they belonged.

“That one’s nice,” Mike murmured.

The words slipped out before he could catch them, quiet and unfiltered, like his mouth had moved before his brain remembered to intervene.

Will glanced over. “Hm?”

Mike jolted like he’d been caught doing something illegal.

“Oh—” His face flared instantly, heat rushing up his neck and into his cheeks. “Uh—just. Your rings.”

He lifted a finger, hesitating, then pointed toward one in particular. It was worn, definitely one of the older ones. It was designed in a way that made it look like a chain.

“That one,” he said again, softer now. “It’s… nice.”

For a moment, Will didn’t respond.

He looked down at his hand, really looked at it, thumb brushing briefly over the ring Mike had indicated. Then he glanced back at Mike.

There was something different in his expression now. Thoughtful. Gentle. Like he was deciding something.

Then he smiled.

And Mike’s chest tightened painfully.

Will’s fingers moved.

The ring caught slightly as he slid it up his finger, snagging just enough to make him pause. He twisted it gently, knuckle whitening for half a second before it came free. It clinked softly against the other rings as he sets it in his palm.

Will lifted his hand.

Open. Flat.

Offering.

The ring sat there, centered, glinting faintly.

The traffic light flickered.

Yellow.

Mike stared.

His brain emptied completely.

Every thought scattered, leaving behind only sensation—heat flooding his face, his heart slamming so loudly he was sure Will could hear it, the sudden, overwhelming awareness of how close they were.

“Uh?” he breathed.

Will’s other hand dropped to the gearshift, fingers wrapping around it with easy familiarity. He slipped it into place as the car began to roll forward at a crawl.

His outstretched hand didn’t waver.

“Take it,” Will said softly.

Not rushed.
Not shy.

Certain.

“It’ll look better on you.”

The words landed like a weight and a lift all at once.

Mike’s hand shook as he reached out.

He tried to steady it. Failed.

His fingers brushed Will’s palm—warm, solid, grounding—before closing around the ring. The metal was warm from Will’s skin, heavier than Mike expected, the chain links cool where they touched his fingers.

The light turned green.

Will withdrew his hand smoothly, returning it to the wheel like this hadn’t just changed the axis of Mike’s entire day. The car picked up speed, engine humming steadily as they moved forward.

Mike couldn’t look up.

He stared at the ring in his palm, turning it slightly, watching the light catch in the links. His thumb traced over it once, tentative, reverent.

Then he looked at his own hand.

Then back at the ring.

His chest felt tight in a way that wasn’t panic. Something else. Something fuller.

Will smiled, eyes still on the road, expression calm and unreadable—except for the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth, like he knew exactly what he’d just done.

Mike swallowed hard.

He didn’t put the ring on yet.

He just held it, fingers curled protectively around it like it might disappear if he didn’t.

And in the quiet hum of the car, under the glow of passing streetlights, Mike understood—deep in his bones—that this wasn’t casual.

It wasn’t a joke.

It wasn’t nothing.

It was Will choosing him.

And Mike, still shaking, still warm, still utterly undone—

let himself be chosen.

The last few minutes of the journey passed in a soft, almost unreal blur.

The music played low through the speakers—something mellow, unobtrusive—and Will tapped his fingers lightly against the steering wheel in time with it. Not enough to be distracting. Just enough to show he was relaxed. Comfortable.

Mike sat beside him, shoulders angled slightly inward without realizing it, the ring still wrapped tightly in his fist. He hadn’t dared put it on yet. Hadn’t dared do anything with it except hold it, like it was something fragile that might disappear if he let go.

Streetlights slid past the windows in steady intervals, briefly illuminating Will’s profile, the curve of his jaw, the focus in his eyes.

Then the car slowed.

Will eased them to a stop just outside Mike’s house, engine idling quietly. He squinted through the windshield, leaning forward slightly as he took in the darkened shape of the place.

“Is this the right one?” he asked carefully.

Mike looked up.

The porch light was on, casting a warm glow across the front yard. Through the window, he could see the faint movement of figures inside—Holly barreling across the living room at full speed, arms flailing wildly. Karen followed close behind, hands gesturing emphatically as she tried—and very clearly failed—to corral her.

Something in Mike’s chest softened at the sight.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Will smiled and pulled the handbrake up, the click loud in the suddenly still car.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then Will turned slightly toward him.

His gaze dropped—not to Mike’s face, but to his hand. Still clenched tight, knuckles faintly white with how hard Mike was holding on.

Will reached out and tapped it gently. Not demanding. Not rushed.

“Open,” he said softly.

The word felt impossibly intimate.

Mike swallowed.

Slowly—carefully—he let his fingers unfurl.

The ring glinted faintly as it was freed from his grip, metal catching the light from the dashboard. Mike hadn’t realized just how tightly he’d been holding it until now.

Will took it from his palm with deliberate care.

Then—without hesitation—he took Mike’s hand.

Mike’s breath hitched violently.

His heart slammed straight into his throat, loud and insistent, and if he’d been breathing before, he absolutely wasn’t now. The world narrowed to the warmth of Will’s fingers around his own, to the way his thumb brushed briefly over Mike’s knuckles like he was grounding him.

Will slipped the ring onto Mike’s ring finger.

He’d worn it on his index finger—but Mike’s hands were slimmer, the fit different. The ring slid down easily, settling into place like it had always belonged there.

Will let go slowly, eyes flicking up to Mike’s face.

“See?” he said, smiling. “Looks good.”

Mike stared at his hand.

At the ring.

At the impossible reality of it sitting there, solid and real.

“I—” His voice caught completely. He shook his head once, breathless. “I think I might faint.”

Will laughed softly, fond and quiet. “Please don’t.”

Mike looked up then, meeting Will’s eyes.

His heart was still racing. His chest still felt too full.

But underneath all of it—there was warmth. Steady and grounding.

“Thank you,” he managed.

Will’s smile softened even more.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

They sat there for another second—two—neither quite ready to be the first to move.

Then Mike glanced back toward the house, toward the glow and the noise waiting for him inside.

“I should—” he started.

“Yeah,” Will said gently. “Yeah.”

Mike hesitated, then reached for the door handle. Before he opened it, he looked back one last time.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, hopeful without trying to be.

Will nodded. “Definitely.”

Mike smiled.

And as he stepped out into the cool night air, hand brushing instinctively over the ring now resting on his finger, he knew—without a doubt—that this moment was going to stay with him.

Mike lingered on the sidewalk for a second longer than necessary, watching the taillights fade until they were swallowed by the dark. He lifted his hand in a slow, almost hesitant wave, heart still doing that stupid, buoyant thing in his chest.

Will glanced back at just the right moment.

Even through the glass, even with the distance, Mike could see the smile. Small. Soft. Just for him. Will lifted his hand and waved back before the car disappeared down the street, the sound of the engine fading into the night.

Mike stood there, fingers curling reflexively, the ring cool and solid against his skin.

Then he turned toward the house.

And froze.

The window.

He squinted at it, brain lagging behind what his eyes were clearly telling him.

There were shapes. Too many shapes. Faces where faces should not be.

Karen was half-hidden behind the curtain, peering out like she was watching a nature documentary. Ted loomed just behind her, unmistakably visible, his silhouette pressed slightly too close to the glass. Nancy hovered off to the side, arms crossed, pretending very badly that she wasn’t involved.

And Holly—

Holly had her hands flat against the window, nose practically smushed to the glass, eyes huge with curiosity.

Mike stared.

They stared back.

For half a second, no one moved.

Then chaos.

Karen yelped softly and vanished to the left. Ted shuffled backward like he’d been startled mid-crime. Nancy bolted toward the couch with the speed of someone who had rehearsed this exact scenario. Holly ducked straight down, giggling like this was the funniest thing she’d ever seen.

Mike tilted his head back and groaned.

“Oh my god,” he muttered to the empty night.

By the time he unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the house was quiet.

Painfully so.

The kind of quiet that felt staged. Suspicious. Loud in its effort.

He slipped his shoes off and padded into the living room.

Karen sat on the couch, holding a book in her hands with studied casualness.

The book was upside down.

Ted sat in his armchair, the newspaper unfurled wide in front of him—except he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes weren’t moving.

Nancy perched on the far end of the couch, suddenly deeply invested in her phone, which Mike could tell immediately was not even on.

And Holly—

Holly stood in the middle of the room, rocking back and forth on her heels, staring at him openly, unapologetically, like she’d been waiting for this moment her entire life.

“Who was that?” she asked brightly.

Mike stopped dead.

He looked at Holly.

Then at his mom.

Then at the upside-down book.

“I—uh. A friend I made,” he said slowly. “Mom. Your book’s upside down.”

Karen glanced down, blinked once, then placed it neatly on the coffee table like that had absolutely been intentional.

“Mike!” she said, beaming. “How was your day? Who did you meet? Nancy told us you made friends—friends, as in more than one.”

Nancy didn’t look up. “I did not say it like that.”

Ted folded the newspaper with care, setting it aside and nodding thoughtfully. “That was a nice car.”

Mike stared at him.

“You didn’t even see the car properly.”

Ted smiled mildly. “Still.”

Mike dragged a hand down his face and gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Can I just—put my bag down first?”

Holly took a step closer.

“Is he your boyfriend?” she asked, eyes shining.

Mike choked on air.

“What? No—!”

Karen’s eyebrows shot up. Nancy’s phone lowered an inch. Ted hummed, deeply intrigued.

“He’s just a friend,” Mike said quickly, heat flooding his face. “I met him today. At school.”

Karen clasped her hands together, delighted. “That’s wonderful, honey.”

Holly rocked again. “Do you want him to be?”

Mike made a noise that could not be classified as human and bolted down the hallway.

Behind him, Ted’s laughter boomed and Karen’s voice floated after him, victorious and far too pleased.

“I’m so glad you had a good first day!”

Mike shut his bedroom door, leaned back against it, and stared up at the ceiling.

His heart was still racing. His face still burned.

He lifted his hand.

Looked at the ring.

And despite the interrogation, the goblin surveillance, the absolute lack of dignity—

He smiled.

Yeah.

Still worth it.

The next morning felt… different.

Not easier, exactly—but lighter. Like the weight of yesterday had shifted just enough to make breathing come naturally again.

Mike peeled away from Nancy at the school gates with a quick wave, watching her disappear into the crowd with that same purposeful stride. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and scanned the lot instinctively.

He spotted them almost immediately.

The fiery red hair acted like some sort of beacon, impossible to miss even in the early morning chaos. Max stood out like she always did—arms crossed, posture relaxed, expression unimpressed by literally everything around her.

Dustin’s laughter rang out a second later, loud and unrestrained, carrying across the lot like an announcement. And beneath it all—faint but unmistakable—was the lingering smell of the van’s fumes. Even after it had been turned off, it clung stubbornly to the air like a warning.

Mike smiled before he even realized he was doing it.

Lucas noticed him first and lifted a hand, waving enthusiastically. “Morning, dude!” he called.

Mike trotted over, weaving between students with more confidence than he’d had yesterday. He slung his backpack properly onto his shoulder as he reached them.

“Morning,” he said easily. “How was practice?”

That was a mistake.

Max groaned immediately, tipping her head back like she was in physical pain. “Oh my god, Mike, don’t even give him the opportunity to start,” she said. “I promise you, you do not want to hear it.”

Lucas gaped at her, scandalized, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest. “Yes he does.”

“No,” Dustin said flatly. “He really doesn’t.”

Lucas ignored him entirely, turning back to Mike with renewed enthusiasm. “Okay, but listen—”

Max cut him off, jabbing a finger in his direction. “If you say ‘we crushed it’ I will leave.”

“We did crush it,” Lucas protested. “Coach literally said—”

Dustin snorted. “Coach says that every time you don’t trip over your own feet.”

“That’s not—”

Mike laughed quietly, shoulders shaking, watching the familiar bickering unfold like a well-rehearsed routine. He stayed just to the side of it, close enough to be included, not close enough to be overwhelmed.

It felt… natural.

He realized, faintly, that he wasn’t scanning the crowd anymore. Wasn’t bracing for impact. Wasn’t counting escape routes.

He was just standing there.

With them.

“So,” Max said, turning toward him, eyes sharp but friendly. “Survive your first school night?”

Mike smiled. “Barely. My family staged an intervention.”

Dustin perked up. “Oh, I need details.”

“Later,” Mike said, laughing. “I value my dignity.”

“Smart,” Dustin said approvingly.

The bell rang in the distance, sharp and demanding.

Lucas groaned. “Ugh. Already?”

Max started moving immediately. “Come on. Before we’re late and have to listen to someone monologue about personal responsibility.”

Mike fell into step beside them without thinking, the noise of the parking lot fading as they headed toward the school.

Lucas squinted as they moved through the hallway, craning his neck slightly as he scanned the sea of students flooding past them.

“Dude,” he muttered, “where are they hiding?”

Mike looked around too, instinctively searching the crowd. The hallway was chaos—students shouting over one another, lockers slamming, backpacks swinging dangerously close to people’s heads. Someone nearly took him out with a tote bag. Someone else tripped directly in front of them and swore loudly.

It was hard to spot anyone specific.

Then—

Shaggy hair. Slicked back bun. Will and El, unmistakably.

Mike’s gaze snagged on them immediately.

“Oh—uh, there, I think—” he started, lifting a finger to point.

Max stopped dead.

Explosively so.

She knocked straight into someone walking toward them, the collision sharp enough that the person stumbled back a step. They opened their mouth, brows furrowing, clearly about to say something rude—

Then they realized who they’d run into.

Their expression changed instantly.

They muttered something that might’ve been an apology and scurried away, disappearing into the crowd like they’d just seen a ghost.

Dustin plowed straight into Max’s back with a soft thump.

“Dude?” he said, peering around her shoulder. “You, like—paralysed?”

Max didn’t answer.

She didn’t even blink.

Instead, she reached out and grabbed Mike’s hand.

Mike startled so hard he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Max—?” he started, breath hitching.

She didn’t look at him.

She stared at his hand.

Her fingers tightened slightly around his wrist as her eyes traced down to the ring, lingering there. Then her gaze flicked up to his face. Back down. Up again.

Her mouth slowly curved into a grin.

Not her usual smug smirk.

This one was different.

Wide. Sharp. Almost predatory.

Mike’s stomach dropped straight through the floor.

Oh no.

She tugged him decisively toward the wall, pulling him out of the main current of students. The noise softened just a little as they stepped into a small pocket of space near the lockers. Lucas and Dustin followed without a word, their curiosity immediately piqued.

Max lifted Mike’s hand between them.

Tapped the ring once with her finger.

The metal clicked softly.

“Mike,” she said slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring it. “That—”

Tap.

“—is not your ring.”

Mike’s mouth opened on instinct.

“I—”

“That,” Max continued smoothly, cutting him off without mercy, “is William’s.”

She turned his hand slightly, angling it so the fluorescent lights overhead caught the chain links, making them glint unmistakably.

“Will’s,” she repeated, louder now.

She shoved Mike’s hand forward, right into the boys’ line of sight, waving it slightly like Exhibit A. “That’s Will’s.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—

Dustin gasped.

A full, dramatic, hand-over-mouth gasp.

“No,” he whispered. “No way.”

Lucas leaned in, eyes narrowing as he examined the ring more closely. “Wait—holy shit.”

Mike felt like his entire body was on fire.

“I—it’s not—he just—” He stumbled over the words, hands twitching helplessly. “It doesn’t mean—”

“Oh my god,” Dustin breathed, awe-struck. “He gave you the chain ring.”

Lucas’s head snapped up, eyes locking onto Mike’s face. “Dude,” he said, voice low and serious. “He never takes those off.”

Mike swallowed hard.

The hallway noise surged around them—voices shouting, lockers slamming, the bell ringing faintly in the distance—but it all felt far away. Like the world had narrowed to this one moment, this one ring, this one terrible, wonderful truth sitting on his finger.

Max finally released his hand, but her eyes stayed locked on him, grin still firmly in place.

“So,” she said sweetly, dangerously. “Care to explain?”

Mike stared down at the ring.

Then at the three of them.

Heart pounding. Face burning.

Mike floundered.

Like—fully floundered.

“I— I don’t have an explanation,” he blurted, words tripping over themselves. “He just gave it to me.”

He rubbed at his wrist absently, where Max had been holding him, shoulders curling inward a little.

“Your grip’s strong,” he muttered pitifully, pouting without meaning to. “Like… surprisingly strong.”

Max preened slightly.

Lucas exhaled slowly, deeply, like a man preparing to deliver devastating news.

“Mike,” he said. “Michael.”

Mike winced. That never meant anything good.

“I don’t think you’re understanding the gravity of this situation.”

He gestured with both hands, palms up, like he was laying out evidence on an invisible table.

“He sleeps with those on,” Lucas continued. “Sleeps. Rings on. Every night.”

Mike’s stomach dropped.

“I—what?”

“You’ve known him a day,” Dustin added helpfully, grin splitting his face, “and he gave you a ring. He wouldn’t even let me try one on.”

Mike shook his head frantically, hands lifting in surrender.

“I don’t— it didn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He just— he put it on my hand. I don’t—”

Dustin froze.

Slowly, slowly, his eyes widened. “He put it on his hand,” Dustin whispered.

Mike felt the color drain from his face.

Dustin grabbed Lucas’s shoulder with theatrical urgency. “Dude. He put it on him.”

Lucas’s mouth fell open. “Oh my god.”

Mike made a small, distressed noise. “Please stop saying that.”

Max opened her mouth, clearly ready to continue the interrogation—

Then paused.

Her eyes flicked over Mike’s shoulder.

She smirked.

“You are saved by the culprit,” she announced. “For now.” She pointed lazily past him. “I will absolutely be interrogating you in math.”

Mike turned around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Relief flooded him instantly at the sight of them.

Will and El stood a few feet away, close together, El’s arm linked comfortably through Will’s like it had always belonged there. They looked calm. Untouched by the chaos Mike had just survived.

El smiled brightly when she spotted him.

“Morning!” she said, already moving closer. “We were waiting by your lockers.”

Will nodded, eyes settling on Mike with that same soft ease from the night before.

“Did you get swallowed by the crowd?” he asked gently.

Mike let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Yeah,” he said. “Something like that.”

“It happens,” El nodded sagely, like this was a known phenomenon.

Max crossed her arms, gaze flicking pointedly from Will… to Mike’s hand.

To the ring.

Will followed her line of sight.

His eyes dipped to Mike’s fingers.

Then back up.

His smile changed.

Just a little.

Mike’s heart stuttered.

And suddenly—standing there in the hallway, surrounded by noise and people and chaos—Mike knew with terrifying clarity that this was only the beginning.

And he was so in trouble.

Max kept her promise.

Which, frankly, was exactly what Mike had feared.

Math class was a lost cause almost immediately.

The teacher had scrawled an equation onto the board with the kind of bored efficiency that suggested she’d been teaching the same thing for decades. She turned back to the class, gestured vaguely with the marker.

“Solve it. Hand your sheet in when you’re done.”

Then she sat down at her desk and opened what looked suspiciously like a copy of Vogue.

Mike stared at the equation.

It stared back.

Max leaned over instead.

“So,” she murmured, twirling her pen between her fingers, eyes bright with anticipation. “What did he say?”

Mike didn’t look up. “Max.”

“Did he offer it?” she pressed. “Like—just hand it to you?”

“Max,” he repeated, more pointed this time, tapping his pencil against the paper. “Do the maths.”

She scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He didn’t say anything weird. He just—gave it to me.”

Max hummed thoughtfully, jotting something down that was definitely not maths. “Mm. Suspiciously vague.”

Math ended. Mercifully.

English was worse.

The teacher droned on about Romeo and Juliet, voice monotone as he gestured vaguely at the board. He talked about symbolism, about themes that were… questionable at best. Mike half-listened, irritation simmering as the teacher confidently stated something Mike knew was just flat-out wrong.

He didn’t raise his hand.

He didn’t care enough.

Max leaned closer.

“Mike,” she hissed. “What did you do when he put it on you?”

Mike didn’t even glance at her. “English.”

She scoffed. “I speak it. I don’t need to learn it. I need to learn what the fuck happened during that car ride.”

Mike pressed his lips together, jaw tightening as he stared at his book.

“Nothing happened,” he muttered.

Max smiled. “Liar.”

By the time history rolled around, Mike was exhausted.

The class had been tasked with writing an essay on local history—something about Hawkins’ founding that Mike was only half convinced wasn’t fictionalized entirely. Everyone collectively pretended to work, the room filled with the quiet scratch of pens and the occasional sigh.

Mike rested his forehead briefly against his hand.

Then—

“Mike.”

He groaned quietly, shoulders slumping. “Oh my god, Max. I’m begging you.”

She grinned, leaning in just enough that her voice was barely above a whisper. “Come on. What happened?”

Mike stared at his paper for a long second.

Then he exhaled.

“…We stopped at a red light,” he began reluctantly. “And I said I liked his ring.”

Max’s pen froze.

“And?”

“And he took it off,” Mike continued, cheeks warming despite himself. “And he held it out. And he told me to take it.”

Max’s eyes widened.

“And?”

“And then,” Mike muttered, “he put it on my hand.”

Max slowly leaned back in her chair.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, reverent. “That’s insane.”

Mike shot her a look. “You’re insane.”

She grinned wider. “Oh, he’s down bad.”

Mike ducked his head, ears burning, trying very hard to focus on his essay instead of the way his heart started doing that stupid, hopeful thing again.

History suddenly felt very, very long.

“Okay, but what did he say?” Max asked, voice lower now, careful in a way that made Mike instantly suspicious. “It’s Will. He’s quiet, but he’s not mute. He must’ve said something.”

Mike hesitated.

Just for a second.

But it was a second too long.

Max’s grin was instantaneous. Slow-spreading. Dangerous.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “What did he say?”

Mike stared at his paper, at the half-written sentence about Hawkins’ founding that he absolutely did not care about. His fingers loosened around his pencil until it slipped from his grip and clattered softly against the desk.

He gave up.

He let his head drop forward into his folded arms, cheek pressed against the cool surface of the table. His voice came out muffled, barely above a whisper.

“He said it’d look better on me.”

For a moment—

Nothing.

Max didn’t speak.

She didn’t move.

Mike lifted his head slightly, dread curling in his stomach.

Then—

“Oh.”

Her voice was quiet. Too quiet.

Mike turned his head just enough to look at her.

Max was staring straight ahead, pen frozen mid-air, eyes wide and unblinking like she’d just witnessed something biblical.

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

She slowly turned toward him, chair creaking faintly.

“He said,” she repeated carefully, “that it would look better on you.”

Mike winced. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

“I absolutely do,” Max said. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Mike. That’s—”

She shook her head, laughing silently in disbelief.

“That’s romantic.”

Mike’s face felt like it was on fire. “It wasn’t—he didn’t mean it like that.”

Max stared at him like he’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

“He took a ring he sleeps in,” she said slowly, “off his own hand. He held it out to you. He put it on your finger. And he said it would look better on you.”

She leaned in closer.

“That is the most Will Byers way to flirt I have ever heard.”

Mike dropped his head back onto the desk with a soft thud.

“I hate you,” he muttered.

Max grinned, utterly unrepentant.

“No you don’t,” she said cheerfully. “You’re just terrified.”

Mike didn’t respond.

Because the worst part?

She was right.

His heart was racing all over again, the words replaying in his head, soft and certain and unmistakably meant.

It’ll look better on you.

Mike squeezed his eyes shut. What the fuck was this boy doing to him?

By lunch, mercifully, Max had dropped it.

Not because she was done—Mike knew better than that—but because she’d clocked Will’s presence immediately and decided, with visible restraint, to shelve the interrogation for later. Lucas and Dustin weren’t nearly as subtle; their eyes flicked to Mike’s hand every now and then, curiosity barely contained. Still, they kept their mouths shut.

Probably because Will was right there.

Mike was sandwiched between the Byers siblings at the table, close enough that he could feel Will’s knee brushing his own every so often when one of them shifted. El sat on his other side, munching contentedly on carrot sticks, posture relaxed as she listened to Dustin and Lucas talk animatedly about the allegedly haunted hallway outside the history wing.

“I’m telling you,” Dustin insisted, waving a fry for emphasis, “the vibes are off.”

Max snorted. “It’s a hallway.”

“It’s a haunted hallway,” Lucas corrected. “Big difference.”

El hummed thoughtfully, clearly only half-listening.

Mike poked at his fruit cup with the tip of his fork like it had personally offended him. He picked up a strawberry, examined it absently—and paused when he noticed a faint bruise along its side.

He set it back down.

“Oh,” El said quietly.

Mike looked up, dread settling in his chest.

He resisted the overwhelming urge to drop his head onto the table with a dull, defeated thud.

“Not again,” he whispered.

El didn’t react the way Max would have. She didn’t gasp. Didn’t grin. Didn’t say anything out loud to draw attention.

She just smiled at him.

Soft. Knowing.

Which somehow made it worse.

Her gaze drifted from Mike to her brother. Will met it immediately, like he had some internal radar tuned specifically to her. Something unspoken passed between them in half a second.

Then Will looked down.

At Mike’s hand.

At the ring.

His smile was instant. Warm. Real.

“It fits okay?” Will asked quietly, voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for Mike.

Mike’s face heated so fast he was pretty sure it was visible. He nodded quickly, fingers curling slightly, instinctively protective.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Perfectly.”

Will’s smile spread, slow and unmistakable.

“Yeah?” he asked, like he needed to hear it again.

Mike swallowed. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Will said softly. “Like it’s meant for you.”

Mike’s heart absolutely stuttered.

The cafeteria noise faded into the background—the clatter of trays, the overlapping voices, the chaos of lunchtime—until all he could focus on was the warmth blooming in his chest and the way Will was looking at him like this was the most natural thing in the world.

El crunched on another carrot stick, perfectly content.

Max, however, leaned forward.

Slowly. Deliberately.

She rested her chin in her palms, elbows planted on the table like she was settling in for a show.

“I’m so glad you mentioned it, William,” she said sweetly.

Mike’s soul left his body.

She gestured pointedly toward his hand, where the ring sat, unmistakable in the cafeteria lighting. “The ring. I was going to leave it be. For now. But since it’s out in the open—”

Her eyes flicked between the two of them, sharp and gleeful.

“Do tell.”

Mike made a noise that might’ve been a whimper and sank slightly into his seat.

Will, on the other hand, didn’t even flinch.

He leaned back casually, one arm resting along the back of the bench, posture loose and utterly unconcerned. He glanced at Mike’s hand again, expression softening just a touch before looking back at Max.

“It looks good on him,” he said simply.

Mike nearly died.

Dustin slammed his hands on the table. “No—no, absolutely not. You don’t get to say that like it’s nothing.”

Lucas nodded vigorously. “Yeah, dude. You never let anyone touch those.”

“Literally,” Dustin added. “I asked to try one on once. Once. You acted like I’d asked to borrow your kidneys.”

Mike stared straight ahead, face burning, fingers curling instinctively.

Will raised an eyebrow, finally looking at Dustin.

“Maybe,” he said calmly, “you’re not special enough.”

There was a beat.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Max whispered, delighted. “He said it.”

Lucas wheezed. “That was brutal.”

Dustin clutched his chest. “I thought we were friends.”

El smiled quietly into her carrot sticks, eyes flicking between her brother and Mike with quiet satisfaction.

Mike, meanwhile, was actively combusting.

His ears were on fire. His face felt molten. His heart was pounding so hard he was sure everyone could hear it.

“I—” he tried, then stopped. Tried again. “I didn’t—he just—”

Will looked at him then.

Really looked at him.

And smiled.

Not teasing. Not smug.

Warm. Certain.

Mike’s brain completely shut down.

Max leaned back, satisfied. “Wow. This is better than netlfix.”

Mike dropped his head into his hands.

He was doomed.

Absolutely, irrevocably doomed.

And Will—infuriating, soft-spoken, devastating Will—just reached over and nudged Mike’s knee lightly under the table, like a quiet reassurance.

Mike nearly passed out.

After school that day, the party split ways.

Not because anyone wanted to. Mike had been fully prepared to rot in the Byers basement again like it was a sacred after-school ritual. But one by one, they’d all been dragged away by real life—annoying, inevitable, and frankly cruel.

Dustin had sighed dramatically, shoulders slumping like he was carrying the weight of the world. “My mom has family over,” he’d said mournfully, shaking his head. “And I think my aunty will kill me if I don’t show up to say hi.”

Lucas had nodded with complete understanding. “She’s a scary woman,” he’d agreed solemnly, like this was a known fact of nature.

Lucas’s own excuse had been delivered with the kind of exhausted acceptance that only came from having younger siblings.

“My parents are having their annual date night and need me home to watch Erica,” he’d explained. “And even though Erica is the one babysitting me, I can’t ruin their yearly date by bailing.”

Max’s reasoning had been, as always, blunt.

“Billy is out with his stupid boyfriend with the stupid hair,” she’d said flatly, “and that means our stupid house is empty and the dog will lose its mind.”

Will had looked vaguely hopeful, like he might still argue for a basement hangout—until El reminded him, with that calm finality of hers, that they were needed at home per Hopper’s very specific instructions.

Will’s face had fallen instantly.

But a mad Hopper was apparently terrifying enough to keep even Will Byers obedient, so he’d just sighed and accepted his fate.

Which meant Mike ended up home early.

He sat at the dinner table, shoulders slightly hunched, quietly bummed about it. He tried not to show it, because it felt stupid—he’d been in Hawkins for, what, two days?—but the disappointment sat heavy in his chest anyway.

At least the group chat didn’t let him wallow for long.

His phone vibrated every few minutes with something ridiculous: Dustin sending a blurry picture of a casserole captioned PRAY FOR ME, Lucas complaining about Erica’s “dictatorship,” Max ranting about her dog chewing on her notebook like it wasn’t the most stereotypical thing on earth.

Mike smiled at the screen despite himself.

He still felt… restless.

Karen’s voice cut through his thoughts as she leaned forward, spooning pasta onto his plate from across the table like she was feeding a soldier returning from war.

“Mike, eat, honey,” she said gently. “You must be starving. Your lunch was basically untouched.”

Mike blinked down at his plate like it had personally betrayed him. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed.

“I ate,” he lied.

Nancy pointed at him with her fork, instantly delighted. “He sulked the whole way home because he’d rather be with the mystery man that dropped him off yesterday.”

Mike froze, choking slightly on absolutely nothing.

“I did not sulk,” he protested quickly.

Holly, mouth full of pasta, beamed so wide it was actually concerning. Sauce smeared across her cheeks like war paint.

“Your boyfriend!” she announced happily.

Ted glanced up, fork paused mid-air, quiet intrigue sharpening his otherwise sleepy expression.

Mike’s soul tried to exit his body.

“No,” he said, too fast. “He is not my boyfriend.”

Karen’s eyebrows lifted.

Nancy’s smile turned downright wicked.

Holly continued staring at him with an expression of pure delight, mouth still open as she chewed like she was determined to make it as awful as possible.

Mike squinted at her. “And also—ew. Chew with your mouth closed.”

Holly, because she was Holly, opened her mouth wider.

Mike physically recoiled.

Nancy grimaced, setting her fork down like she couldn’t handle the visuals anymore. “Holly, that’s actually disgusting. It’s like watching a tomato go through a spin cycle.”

Holly giggled, sauce practically vibrating.

Ted finally lowered his fork and cleared his throat, looking far too invested for a man who usually contributed nothing but vague commentary.

“So,” he said slowly, “who was that boy?”

Mike’s head snapped toward him. “Dad—”

Ted shrugged, innocent. “Nice car.”

Mike pressed both hands flat on the table and tried to breathe through the oncoming humiliation.

“You said that last night. He’s just a friend,” he said, voice strained. “I made friends. Like a normal person.”

Karen clasped her hands together, glowing. “Oh I know, it’s lovely honey.”

Nancy leaned back in her chair. “What’s his name?

Mike glared at her. “No.”

Holly leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Is he handsome?”

Mike’s face went hot. “Holly.”

Ted nodded thoughtfully. “Was he polite?”

Nancy smirked. “Was he your type?”

Mike made a sound of pure despair and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth like it could silence them.

It didn’t.

Because at the end of the table, Holly kicked her feet and announced, with the confidence of a prophet:

“He’s his boyfriend.”

Mike swallowed his pasta too fast.

And the Wheeler family, like the little goblins they were, absolutely lit up.

Mike took a long sip of water in a desperate attempt to recover some dignity.

It didn’t help.

If anything, it just gave him a second to hear himself think, and what he was thinking was why is my family like this.

“Holly, he is not—” Mike coughed slightly, setting the glass down with more force than necessary. “I met him yesterday. Yesterday!” he reminded the table, like that fact alone should end this entire interrogation.

It didn’t.

Karen’s eyes went soft immediately, like she’d just been handed the opening line to a romance novel.

“Oh, honey,” she gushed, leaning forward as if this was the most precious thing she’d ever heard. “You’re young! Young love is a whirlwind.”

Mike stared at her, horrified. “Mom.”

Ted took another bite of pasta with the calm of a man watching a documentary. Nancy’s mouth twitched like she was actively restraining laughter.

Karen pressed on, undeterred. “Come on. Tell us about him. Just a little. For your mom.”

Mike groaned, dropping his head back slightly. “That is the worst guilt trip I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not a guilt trip,” Karen said brightly.

“It is absolutely a guilt trip,” Nancy chimed in, delighted.

“There is no young love,” Mike insisted, voice strained. “There is no whirlwind. There’s just—school. And—friends.”

Karen looked at him hopefully anyway, eyes wide and earnest in a way that suggested she was absolutely going to wear him down through sheer persistence.

Mike held out for all of three seconds.

Then he caved with a defeated sigh.

“Oh for—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “His name’s Will,” he mumbled.

Holly gasped like Mike had just revealed a secret identity. “Will!”

Karen clasped her hands together. “That’s a lovely name.”

Nancy leaned forward immediately, fork fully abandoned now, her plate pushed away like it no longer mattered. Her eyes sharpened with predatory curiosity.

“And?” she prompted.

Mike blinked. “And… what?”

“And what is Will like?” Nancy asked, voice too innocent to be trusted. “Come on. You can’t just drop a name and stop.”

Ted finally looked up, clearly intrigued now that the conversation had escalated. “Will,” he repeated, as if tasting it. “Is he from around here?”

Mike took another sip of water. “No. I mean—yes. He’s from Hawkins.”

Holly leaned forward on her elbows. “Is he pretty?”

Mike nearly choked.

“Holly—!”

“What?” Holly said, genuinely confused. “Dad asked if he was from here.”

“That’s different,” Mike muttered weakly.

Karen’s smile widened with motherly delight. “Is he polite?”

Mike stared at his plate like it might offer him an escape route.

“…Yeah,” he admitted. “He’s nice.”

Nancy’s eyes narrowed. “Nice how.”

“Just… nice,” Mike said quickly. “Like, normal nice.”

Nancy gave him a look that screamed liar.

Karen leaned in, voice soft and conspiratorial. “Does he treat you well?”

Mike’s ears went hot. “Mom!”

Ted hummed thoughtfully. “Does he have a job?”

Nancy shot him a look. “Dad.”

Ted shrugged. “Just asking.”

Mike exhaled sharply through his nose, fingers tightening around his fork.

“He’s in my grade,” he said. “He’s quiet. He’s… cool.”

Karen made a sound like she was about to cry.

Nancy’s grin sharpened. “Cool,” she echoed. “What kind of cool.”

Mike’s brain betrayed him.

“He wears rings,” Mike said without thinking.

Silence.

Utter, instant silence.

Mike froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Karen blinked slowly. “Rings?”

Nancy’s eyebrows shot up. Holly’s eyes widened like dinner had just become the best entertainment of her life.

Ted’s voice was mild, but devastating. “Like… jewelry?”

Mike swallowed.

“…Yeah,” he said weakly.

Nancy leaned forward further, eyes glittering. “How many rings are we talking.”

Mike tried to backpedal. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Nancy said immediately.

Karen pressed a hand to her chest, soft and thrilled. “Oh, honey.”

Holly nodded furiously. “Rings means boyfriend.”

Mike shut his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “It was one ring. He just—he—”

Nancy’s head tilted slightly. “He what?”

Mike opened his eyes.

Karen was watching him like he was about to reveal a proposal.

Holly was practically vibrating.

Ted had stopped eating entirely.

Mike’s mouth opened.

And then he made the mistake—the fatal mistake—of trying to defend himself.

“He let me borrow one,” he blurted.

Nancy’s face went still.

Karen’s hand flew to her mouth.

Holly let out an excited squeal.

Ted said, very quietly, “Oh.”

Mike realized what he’d said the moment it left his mouth.

He stared at the table, heart sinking.

Nancy leaned back in her chair slowly, like she’d just won something.

“You didn’t borrow it,” she said. “He gave it to you.” And in that moment, Mike decided he absolutely detested how smart she was.

Mike’s voice came out small. “It’s not—”

Karen’s smile was radiant now, full-bodied, unstoppable. “Mike,” she breathed. “That is so sweet.”

Holly pointed at him like a tiny prosecutor. “Boyfriend.”

Mike dropped his forehead onto the table with a dull thud.

Mike kept his head firmly planted on the table, cheek smushed against the wood like he could simply melt into it and escape the Wheeler Family Court of Public Opinion.

Nancy patted his head in a slow, patronising rhythm, like he was a distressed dog she was soothing. Mike ignored it to the best of his ability, which was difficult, because she was doing it with the kind of smug satisfaction that made his teeth grind.

He also tried—failed—not to flinch as Karen gently lifted his hand.

“Mom—” Mike mumbled, voice muffled against the table.

Karen didn’t hear him. Or pretended not to.

She turned his hand slightly, angling it toward the overhead light like she was evaluating a diamond. Her fingers were soft, careful, reverent in a way that made Mike’s soul try to crawl out of his body.

“It is a lovely ring,” Karen observed, impressed. “Very well made.”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut.

“Ted,” Karen gushed, still holding his hand hostage, “look at this, honey.”

Ted leaned in with the measured interest of a man examining a new lawnmower. “Hm,” he said thoughtfully. “Nice.”

Mike did not have the energy left in him to yank his hand away.

Not until—

His phone vibrated.

Once.

Then again.

Mike’s head snapped up like he’d been called to attention. Salvation. A distraction. He’d take anything: a weather alert, an email from the school, a news notification about a minor earthquake. Anything.

He grabbed his phone, thumb flicking the screen awake.

And then he saw it.

A notification from the group chat.

More specifically—

From will ♥.

(He tried not to put the heart, he really did. He failed.)

will ♥: drive later??

Mike stared at the screen for a second too long, warmth blooming across his face before he could stop it. A small smile pulled at his mouth, soft and private—like the message had reached inside him and pressed something gentle.

Nancy’s eyes narrowed instantly.

“He’s smiling,” she announced, voice sharp with delighted suspicion.

Holly gasped, practically vibrating in her seat. “It’s the boyfriend!”

Mike’s head whipped toward her.

“No—”

Holly grinned wider, sauce still faintly on her chin like a badge of honor. “Boyfrieeend—”

Mike snatched a stray napkin and lobbed it at her.

It bonked her lightly in the face.

Holly cackled.

Karen, completely unfazed, still had Mike’s hand. “Aw,” she sighed, watching him like he was twelve and bringing home a valentine. “Look at you.”

Mike made a strangled noise and finally pulled his hand back, tucking it protectively close to his chest as if the ring might be confiscated for evidence.

He focused on the phone again, thumbs moving fast.

mike: yeah i’m free (:

The three little dots appeared almost instantly.

Then—

dustin: CANT. family dinner. there are 6 children here and at least 2 are sticky. send help

Mike snorted, trying not to laugh too loudly.

Another message came in right after.

lucas: can’t either. parents are mia and erica is plotting something i can feel it

And then Max, predictably:

max: can’t. billy’s being a menace and i have to make sure my dog doesn’t eat something illegal

Mike’s smile widened despite himself. The chat kept buzzing in his hand, one excuse after another like the universe was conspiring to isolate him.

His stomach fluttered.

Because now it was just—

Him.

And Will.

And that wasn’t terrifying at all. Definitely not.

The typing bubble appeared again.

Then El:

el: i’ll stay home.

No explanation. No emoji. Just… that. Like a little chess piece placed carefully on the board.

Mike frowned at it, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Should I back out?
Should I say I forgot I have homework?
Should I suddenly develop a lifelong commitment to the dishes?

Before he could panic himself into an excuse, another notification appeared.

Not in the group chat—direct.

From will ♥.

will ♥: i’ll be there later (:

Mike stared at the message.

That stupid little smiley face.

The certainty of it.

The casual, gentle confidence.

His heart kicked hard enough to make him feel slightly dizzy.

Across the table, Nancy was still watching him like she was taking notes. Karen looked like she might cry. Ted had returned to eating, but his eyes kept flicking up with quiet amusement. Holly was whispering to herself like she was already composing wedding invitations.

Mike didn’t look up.

He typed back, fingers shaking only slightly.

mike: okay. yeah. later :)

And then he sat there, phone warm in his hand, ring cooler on his finger, and the overwhelming realization settling in—

He was absolutely, completely doomed.

And he couldn’t even bring himself to be mad about it.

Mike pushed his chair back slowly.

Too slowly.

Like he was very aware that sudden movements might trigger something feral.

The legs of the chair scraped softly against the floor, loud in the sudden hush that followed. Every set of eyes at the table tracked him as he stood, shoulders slightly hunched, phone still warm in his hand.

He adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, movements careful, deliberate—like he was navigating a room full of tripwires.

Nancy tilted her head, expression carefully neutral. Innocent. Which was never a good sign.

“Going out?” she asked lightly.

Mike nodded once, slow and noncommittal. “Later, yeah.”

Karen’s smile flickered—soft, hopeful, trying very hard not to pry.

Holly, on the other hand, looked like she might actually explode. She bounced slightly in her seat, eyes darting between Mike and the door, mouth opening and closing like she was physically restraining herself.

They stayed quiet.

For a beat.

Then another.

The silence stretched, thick and expectant.

Mike took a step toward the hallway.

Another.

His fingers curled tighter around his phone.

To his surprise, it wasn’t Nancy or Karen who cracked.

It was Ted.

He cleared his throat, voice mild, almost conversational.

“With Will?”

Mike didn’t stop walking.

Didn’t turn around.

Didn’t dignify it with a verbal response.

He just lifted his hand slightly—ring catching the light for half a second as it moved—and kept going.

Behind him, Karen gasped softly.

Nancy burst out laughing.

Holly squealed, high-pitched and victorious. “I KNEW IT.”

Mike disappeared down the hallway, cheeks burning, heart racing, a grin tugging at his mouth despite himself.

Mike lay flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

His phone rested on his chest, screen lighting up every few minutes as he checked the time. Again. And again. And again.

No message.

No update.

Just later.

Which was apparently vague enough to send him into a full-blown spiral.

Would Will text when he was on his way?
Would he just show up?
What if he already had and Mike missed it?
What if—

KNOCK KNOCK.

Mike shot upright so fast the room tilted violently.

“Oh god—no—no—no—” he spluttered, feet hitting the floor as he lurched upright.

He didn’t stop to let the dizziness pass. Didn’t stop to breathe. He launched himself toward the door, nearly tripping over the edge of his rug, heart slamming so hard it felt like it might escape his ribcage.

He grabbed the hoodie slung over the banister mid-sprint and flew down the stairs two at a time, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching fabric.

One thought. One goal.

Get to the door before anyone else does.

He skidded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

Too late.

Karen was already there.

Standing at the front door.

Hand on the knob.

Smiling.

Not just smiling—beaming. The kind of smile that said I am about to be delightful in a way that will haunt you forever.

“Oh!” she said brightly as she opened the door. “Hello! You must be Will?”

Mike’s soul left his body.

Will stood on the porch, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his jacket, posture relaxed like he wasn’t currently standing at the epicenter of Mike Wheeler’s worst nightmare. The porch light cast a soft glow over him, catching in his hair, glinting faintly off his jewelery.

He blinked once, then smiled politely.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m Will.”

Mike made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a plea for mercy.

“Mom—”

Karen stepped forward immediately, eyes shining. “I’m Karen, Mike’s mother. It’s so nice to meet you.”

Mike watched in slow-motion horror as she reached out and shook Will’s hand.

Will shook it back. Politely. Warmly. Perfectly.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wheeler,” Will said.

“Oh, please, call me Karen,” she laughed. “Mike’s told us so much about you.”

Mike’s head snapped toward her.

“I have absolutely not—”

“Hi!” Holly suddenly appeared from behind Karen’s leg like a jump scare, peeking around with unrestrained curiosity. “You’re the boyfriend!”

Mike’s lungs stopped functioning.

“HOLLY—”

Will’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t look alarmed. If anything, he looked… amused.

“Oh—uh—hi,” he said gently.

“That’s my sister,” Mike rushed out. “She—she says things.”

Holly grinned wider, looking up at Mike, “He is pretty.”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut.

From the living room, footsteps approached.

Ted appeared, peering over his glasses like he was inspecting a new appliance.

“This him?” he asked mildly.

Mike whispered, “I’m actually going to die.”

Will straightened a little, immediately respectful. “Hi, sir.”

Ted nodded once.

Mike didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“I—okay—we’re—leaving,” Mike blurted, already dropping to one knee to shove his feet into his shoes. “Right now. Immediately.”

He missed the shoe entirely.

Tried again.

Karen watched fondly. “Drive safe!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Will replied automatically.

Mike finally jammed both shoes on—laces completely undone, dignity long gone. He grabbed his keys, stood too fast, and immediately reached for Will’s sleeve.

“Bye!” he yelped, already dragging him off the porch like he was evacuating a crime scene. “We’ll—bye!”

“Nice meeting you!” Karen called cheerfully.

“Bye, Will!” Holly sang.

The front door shut firmly behind them.

Blessed. Blessed silence.

Mike leaned back against the door on the outside, chest heaving slightly, face burning from the roots of his hair down to his collarbone.

“I am so sorry,” he said immediately. “They’re—normally—well, no, they’re always like that.”

Will laughed.

Soft. Warm. Unbothered.

“I think they’re kind of great,” he said.

Mike stared at him in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” he muttered. “You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

Will’s smile widened just a little, eyes bright in the porch light.

“Not a chance,” he said.

And somehow—despite the mortification, the chaos, the absolute nightmare of it all—

Mike felt lighter than he had all day.

Will reached for Mike’s hand gently.

Not suddenly. Not like he was worried Mike might pull away. Just a calm, sure movement—fingers sliding easily between Mike’s, thumb brushing over the ring like it belonged there. Like Mike belonged there.

“Come on,” Will said softly. “We’re going the scenic route.”

Mike’s heart fluttered helplessly.

He let himself be led without a second thought, feet moving on instinct, fingers tightening slightly as Will intertwined their hands properly. It felt… right. Easy. Like this was a thing they’d done a hundred times already, even though it absolutely wasn’t.

Will guided him toward the passenger side, giving his hand a small squeeze before stepping ahead to open the door. He did it without ceremony, just held it open patiently, eyes flicking to Mike with a soft smile that made Mike’s chest ache.

“Scenic route?” Mike asked quietly as he slid into the seat, voice barely steady enough to carry the words.

Will smiled wider. Not smug. Not teasing.

“Yeah,” he said. “Saved for special occasions.”

Mike swallowed.

Will shut the door gently—carefully—like he was aware of how fragile this moment felt. He rounded the front of the car, footsteps crunching softly on the gravel as he made his way to the driver’s side.

Mike leaned back into the seat, staring up at the ceiling for a second, trying to process the last thirty seconds of his life.

He held my hand.

Oh my god.

His fingers curled reflexively, still warm where Will had been holding them. The ring caught the light faintly as he shifted, a quiet reminder that this was all real.

Will slid into the driver’s seat and closed the door, the car settling around them like a cocoon. He didn’t start it right away. He glanced over instead, eyes gentle.

“Seatbelt,” he said quietly.

Mike nodded and reached for it.

And fumbled.

His fingers shook just enough to make the motion clumsy. The buckle slipped from his grasp once. Then again. He let out a small, frustrated huff, cheeks heating instantly.

“I’ve got it—” he started.

Will leaned over slightly.

“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”

He reached out, careful, asking permission even without words. Mike froze for half a second—then nodded.

Will took the buckle from his fingers, their hands brushing lightly. Mike felt it everywhere. The warmth. The closeness. The way Will’s arm crossed in front of him, solid and steady.

Click.

The seatbelt locked into place.

Will didn’t pull away immediately.

For a brief, suspended moment, his hand lingered near Mike’s chest, close enough that Mike could feel the heat of it through his hoodie. Will glanced at him—really looked—eyes soft, expression unreadable in the best way.

“Okay,” Will said quietly.

Then he leaned back into his own seat, started the engine, and eased the car into motion like the world hadn’t just shifted on its axis.

Mike stared out the window, pulse racing, fingers curling around the ring again as the neighborhood slipped past them. Streetlights glowed. Trees blurred into shadow. The night felt bigger somehow—full of possibility.

Scenic route.

Special occasion.

Mike smiled to himself, heart full and racing all at once.

Will eased onto the road smoothly, one hand steady on the wheel as he guided the car out of the neighborhood. He reached over and turned the volume knob just a little—enough that the music filled the space properly, low and warm, threading itself between them without demanding attention.

The streetlights slid past in slow, steady intervals, casting brief flashes of gold across the dashboard and Will’s profile.

“I’m glad you could come out,” Will said softly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror as he checked it before signaling and merging onto the main road.

Mike turned slightly in his seat to look at him, shoulders angled his way without thinking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will replied. He glanced over at Mike briefly, smiling to himself. “I’m glad the others bailed. I kind of hoped they would, honestly.”

Mike’s heart gave an unhelpful little leap.

Will chuckled under his breath. “El did it on purpose. I think she read my mind.”

Mike hummed, trying—and failing—not to focus on the way his stomach was doing quiet flips. “Twin telepathy?”

Will laughed, the sound easy and genuine, cutting through the music. “Yeah. Something like that, for sure.” He shook his head slightly. “I think she’s psychic.”

Mike smiled at that, relaxing back into the seat a little as the road stretched out ahead of them. The houses thinned quickly, giving way to longer stretches of dark road lined with trees. The kind of road that felt removed from everything else—quiet, almost private.

“That would explain a lot,” Mike said. “She’s been clocking me since, like… yesterday.”

Will’s lips twitched. “She does that.”

The car hummed beneath them, tires rolling softly over the pavement. Will drove with an unhurried confidence, taking turns smoothly, clearly in no rush. The air coming through the cracked window was cool, brushing against Mike’s cheek and making everything feel sharper somehow.

“This is nice,” Mike said after a moment, gaze drifting out the window. “The scenic route, I mean.”

Will nodded. “Yeah. It’s quieter this way.”

He paused, then added, a little more softly, “I like it.”

Mike glanced back at him, catching the way his fingers tapped lightly against the steering wheel in time with the music. The ringless hand. The one he’d given something up with.

“I’m glad you asked me,” Mike said, voice low.

Will looked over at him again, just for a second—but it was enough. Enough to make Mike’s chest feel too full.

“Me too,” Will said.

They drove on like that—music low, conversation easy, the night unfolding around them slowly. No rush. No pressure. Just the road, the glow of the dashboard, and the quiet understanding settling comfortably between them.

Mike rested his head back against the seat, fingers brushing the ring on his hand without thinking.

The roads slowly thinned out.

Streetlights became fewer and farther between until they disappeared entirely, replaced by tall, dark trees crowding close to the asphalt. Their branches arched overhead like a tunnel, leaves whispering softly whenever the breeze caught them. The road wound gently through the woods, curves rolling one into the next.

Will navigated it with the easy confidence of someone who’d driven this way more times than he could count. One hand on the wheel, the other shifting smoothly when needed, eyes calm and focused—not tense, not rushed.

Mike watched the world blur past the window, then shifted, pulling his legs up slightly, knees tucked toward his chest. It felt natural. Comfortable. Like the car was a small, contained universe and nothing outside it could reach them.

“What makes this a special occasion?” Mike asked quietly.

Will was silent for a beat, eyes still on the road.

“I don’t usually do this route with the others,” he admitted finally. “Dustin starts demanding food ten minutes in. Lucas hates that there aren’t streetlights. And Max is…” He snorted softly. “Max.”

Mike smiled.

Will glanced over at him then, just briefly, but his expression softened.

“And you’re here,” he said. “That makes it special.”

Mike’s breath caught.

He stared at Will for a second too long, heart stuttering, the words settling somewhere deep in his chest where they immediately refused to leave.

“Do you do it on purpose?” Mike asked, voice quiet but steady.

Will frowned slightly, genuinely confused. “What?”

Mike gestured vaguely to himself, then pressed a hand lightly against his chest. “This,” he said. “Make my stomach do things it’s never done. Or—” He huffed out a breath, half-laugh, half-confession. “Make my heart try to exit my chest.”

Will laughed softly, the sound warm and real, echoing gently in the enclosed space.

“Maybe,” he said.

There was a pause.

A meaningful one.

Then Will spoke again, quieter now. “Do you like it?”

Mike didn’t answer right away.

He looked out the window at the dark shapes of trees rushing past, at the faint reflection of the dashboard lights on the glass. He listened to the hum of the engine, the low music threading through the silence, the steady rhythm of Will’s driving.

Then he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Will’s mouth curved into a small smile.

“Good.”

The car kept moving, winding deeper into the quiet, the road unfolding patiently in front of them. Mike rested his head back against the seat, heart still racing—but slower now. Steadier.

Will let the car slow naturally, easing off the accelerator until it rolled into a small lay-by just off the road. Gravel crunched softly under the tires as he brought it to a stop, the engine idling low and steady.

Mike leaned forward instinctively, peeking out of Will’s window to figure out why they’d stopped.

And then—

Oh.

They’d climbed higher without him noticing. The road must’ve been winding upward this whole time, because stretched out below them now was Hawkins—tiny and glowing, lights scattered like constellations against the dark. From up here, the town looked… peaceful. Almost gentle.

Pretty.

Which was not something Mike had ever expected to think.

“Oh,” he said dumbly.

Will glanced over at him, already smiling, and reached up to unbuckle his seatbelt. The quiet click felt impossibly loud in the stillness.

“Yeah,” Will said softly. “The others wouldn’t appreciate it like you are.”

Mike looked at him.

Then down at his own seatbelt.

Then back at Will.

His fingers fumbled slightly as he unbuckled himself too, turning in his seat until he was facing Will completely, knees angled his way. He tilted his head, studying him in the low dashboard light, the glow of the town reflecting faintly in the windshield.

“You’re trying to kill me,” Mike said quietly. “You have to be. You’ve known me two days and you’re killing me.”

Will huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “You’re killing me.”

He leaned back into his seat, head resting against the headrest, eyes lifting to stare at the ceiling for a second like he needed a moment to collect himself.

“Mike,” he said, voice lower now, more serious. “Literally everything you do drives me insane.”

Mike’s heart slammed so hard he felt dizzy.

“But—” Will added quickly, turning his head to look at him again, eyes warm, earnest, “in a good way.”

Mike swallowed.

He felt like his body didn’t know what to do with itself—too warm, too aware, too full. His hands twisted together in his lap, fingers brushing the ring unconsciously like it was an anchor.

“What do you mean?” he asked, voice barely steady.

Will exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding this in.

“I mean,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “the way you look at things like you’re actually seeing them. The way you laugh—like you don’t expect anyone else to hear it, but you don’t try to stop it either.”

Mike’s chest tightened.

“The way you get quiet when you’re thinking,” Will continued. “And then say something genuinely smart.”

Mike shook his head faintly. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Will said gently. “And you don’t even know it.”

He shifted slightly in his seat, turning more toward Mike now, one arm resting along the back.

“And the way you get flustered,” Will added, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Like—constantly.”

Mike let out a breathy laugh that sounded half-panicked. “That’s not fair.”

Will smiled fully then. “I know.”

Mike stared at him, heart in his throat, pulse loud in his ears. He felt like he was on the edge of something—something huge and fragile and terrifying all at once.

“I don’t usually feel like this,” Mike admitted quietly. “Like my body’s… not listening to me.”

Will nodded, understanding immediately. “Me neither.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was heavy. Charged. Full.

Outside, the town lights twinkled below them, distant and unaware, while inside the car everything felt impossibly close.

Will studies Mike carefully.

Not like he’s searching for permission—like he’s already found it, and just wants to be absolutely sure he isn’t imagining things.

“Can I do something?” Will asks quietly.

Mike’s brain immediately short-circuits.

Oh god. This was it. This was everything. His heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape his ribs.

“I—yeah,” Mike says breathlessly. “Before I faint.”

Will smiles, soft and fond. “Don’t do that,” he murmurs. “Not now, at least.”

He reaches for Mike’s hand again, slow and careful, fingers warm as they wrap around his. His thumb brushes over the ring, grounding, familiar. He watches Mike the whole time—like he’s memorizing the way his breath stutters, the way his shoulders tense and then relax.

“If I’ve read this wrong,” Will says quietly, “tell me before I look like an idiot.”

Mike doesn’t hesitate.

“You definitely haven’t,” he whispers.

Something in Will’s expression shifts—relief, certainty, something glowing and real.

He leans forward just a little, gently weaving their fingers together and resting their joined hands in Mike’s lap. It feels deliberate. Intimate. Like he wants Mike to feel how real this is.

Then, slowly, Will lifts his free hand.

He hesitates just long enough for Mike to feel it.

And then his palm settles against Mike’s cheek.

The rings are cool against his skin, sending a shiver straight through him. Mike’s breath catches, eyes fluttering shut for half a second because this cannot be happening. This feels like something he’s dreamed about, something his brain invented to be cruel.

Will’s thumb brushes lightly along his jaw.

“You’re sure?” Will whispers, eyes flicking down—just briefly—to Mike’s lips.

Mike holds his breath.

“Certain,” he says.

That’s all Will needs.

He closes the distance slowly, giving Mike time—giving him choice—and then their lips meet in the gentlest kiss imaginable.

It’s soft. Careful. Like Will is afraid of breaking something precious.

Their lips fit together easily, naturally. Will’s are a little chapped, warm and real, and Mike feels it everywhere—in his chest, in his hands, in the quiet rush of oh. He barely moves at first, just sinks into it, lets it happen.

Will stays there, just for a moment longer than necessary, like he doesn’t want to let go.

When they finally part, it’s slow. Reluctant.

Mike opens his eyes, breath shaky, heart absolutely gone.

Will’s forehead rests lightly against his.

“Okay,” Will murmurs.

Mike lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Yeah.”

Will stays close, not moving away yet, like he’s afraid that if he does the moment might disappear.

“The feeling’s mutual, then?” he asks quietly.

There’s a softness to his voice now—hopeful, almost disbelieving—like he’s asking a question he’s already answered a hundred times in his head but still needs to hear out loud.

Mike doesn’t hesitate.

He lets himself smile—really smile. The kind that starts in his chest and spreads until his face hurts a little, until he can’t hold it back even if he wanted to. A breathless laugh slips out of him, light and incredulous, like he can’t quite believe this is real.

“Yeah, Will,” he says. “It’s definitely mutual.”

Will exhales shakily, like he’s been holding that breath for days.

“Thank god,” he murmurs.

He pulls back just enough to look at Mike properly, really look at him—eyes searching, soft and earnest, like he’s taking him in all over again with new understanding. The night hums quietly around them, the glow of Hawkins still shining in the distance, but for a moment it feels like it’s just the two of them.

“You’re perfect,” Will says.

The word lands heavy.

Mike swallows, heart swelling so full it almost aches. No one’s ever said that to him before—not like this, not with such certainty. He shakes his head slightly, overwhelmed, but smiling all the same.

“I don’t think that’s true,” he says softly.

Will smiles back, unshaken. “I do.”

And for the first time, Mike doesn’t argue.

He just sits there, warmth spreading through him, feeling seen in a way he didn’t know he’d been missing. Whatever this is—whatever they’re becoming—it feels honest. Safe. Real.

“You know,” Will says, voice light but fond, like he’s sharing a secret he’s been holding onto just a little too long, “El set this up.”

Mike’s head snaps up, eyes widening immediately. “Oh my god—” He lets out a breathless laugh. “I knew she was doing something. When she said she’d stay home.”

Will nods, grinning now, the tension completely gone from his shoulders. “She came into my room,” he says, “sat on my bed, and basically threatened me into doing something.”

Mike snorts. “That tracks.”

“And Max—” Will continues, shaking his head. “Max texted me. Told me if I didn’t do anything tonight, she’d never forgive me. Like, ever.”

Mike stares at him for a second, then groans, dropping his head back against the seat. “Oh my god. They were all in on it.”

Will’s grin only widens. “I think so.”

As if summoned by the thought, both of their phones vibrate at the exact same time.

Mike looks down first.

The group chat lights up his screen.

max: so
dustin: they’ve been quiet awhile
lucas: a very long time
max: i think it worked
el: it did.

Mike exhales a laugh, shaking his head as he stares at the screen. “They’re all insane,” he mutters. “Unbelievably insane.”

He looks over at Will, who’s already typing, thumbs moving quickly and confidently like he’s been waiting for this moment.

will: it did

The response is immediate. Explosive.

max: OH MY GOD DUSTIN IT WORKED
dustin: I’M A GENIUS
lucas: you didn’t think of it hello??
dustin: I PROVIDED EMOTIONAL SUPPORT
el: (:

Mike laughs, full and helpless, the sound echoing softly in the car. He leans back into his seat, phone slipping loosely into his lap as he turns to look at Will.

Will’s already looking at him.

His eyes are bright. Happy. Relieved.

He reaches out and squeezes Mike’s hand gently, thumb brushing over the ring like it belongs there—like Mike belongs there.

“They really are insane,” Will says fondly.

Mike smiles back, chest warm, heart steady in a way it hasn’t been in a long time. “Yeah,” he agrees. “But I think I owe them my life.”

Will laughs, leaning back, gaze drifting briefly to the glowing town below them before returning to Mike.

They sit there for a moment longer—hands still joined, phones buzzing intermittently with chaotic celebration, the night wrapped around them like a promise.

Tomorrow, Mike knows, he’ll wake up in Hawkins again.

Same school. Same halls. Same town.

But everything feels different now.

Better.

And for the first time since he arrived, Mike knows—really knows—that he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.