Chapter Text
Summer, 2015.
A lot has changed since the Class of ’89 walked out of Hawkins High, caps crooked, futures wide open.
Life streamed past Mike Wheeler in a blur he barely remembered participating in.
He was 44 now.
Freshly, technically.
He celebrated his birthday just days ago, even though ”celebrated” was a generous word.
At least compared to what he was used back then it almost hurt to remember how things had been.
Back when his best friend would ride all the way across town in the dead of night, just to surprise Mike with his favorite cake.
Back when they’d sit shoulder to shoulder beneath a shared blanket, comic books spread between them, laughter kept quiet so no one would hear.
They’d read until the sun crept in through the windows, either rudely interrupting them or gently tickling them awake after they’d fallen asleep leaned on each other.
But by now?
His birthday felt just as hollow as the one before it. And the one before that.
So he suspects the next would feel just the same.
But Mike stopped fighting it.
This was his life.
The one laid out for him piece by piece, long before he even realized he was following a path at all.
The life his parents had presented to him.
Quiet, predictable, boring
Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he accepted it.
Somewhere along the way, Mike Wheeler stepped directly into his father’s footprints.
He wore the same kind of glasses, mostly for writing at first but by now, writing was all he did, so at some point, they simply became part of his face.
Mike started dressing like his father as well.
Boring, safe, painfully unremarkable
His style could be simply described as ”office nine-to-five” mostly blue button-ups and jeans that somehow made him look even lankier, even more awkward than he really was.
Even his hair suffered the same unfortunate fate.The same horrible haircut that made him look way older than he was.
And yet… somehow, he still looked young. Barely a wrinkle anywhere.
Maybe it was the hours spent in front of his computer in the dark, avoiding the sun. Maybe it was the fact that he rarely laughed anymore.
Or maybe it was just luck.
But hey, by the time you hit your forties, who really cares about looks anyway?
No one, right?
Well, at least Mike didn’t.
Because there are more important things in life.
Responsibilities.
Raising kids.
Keeping a family fed and afloat.
Things Mike never seemed to get right.
His books barely sold.
Just enough to put food on the table, never enough to let him stop obsessing over his computer screen. Yet he still clung to the belief that one day, finally, he’d hit the breakthrough. That one perfect idea that would change everything.
But that obsession didn’t just affect him.
It seeped into the lives of everyone around him.
So now Round of applause, everyone. Because, of course, Mike Wheeler-
Father of the Year
-had actually missed the birth of his second child.
All for a book idea that, surprise, surprise, ended up being rejected by the publisher.
That pretty much sums up the mood at the Wheeler house.
If they were lucky, some days, Mike and his wife actually managed more than a two-word conversation.
And when the kids come home, they barreled into their mother’s arms with uncontainable excitement, squealing about today’s small victories and tiny discoveries.
Sometimes, if Mike was lucky, they’d knock gently on his door, offering a shy, hesitant ”hello” before darting away again.
Mike loved them, of course he did.
He can’t say the same about their mother.
He doesn’t know how he had ended up here, in this quiet, ordinary life.
They met at one of those soul-sucking, barely-paid college jobs, the kind that made you seriously wonder if hell existed.
Somehow, they were caught in the same unspecial life at that exact moment.
Both of them knew the sting of emptiness too well.
And they saw it mirrored in each other.
So maybe… they could fix each other. Together.
Settling for okay with one another felt, strangely- okay. Better than settling for nothing at all.
From then on they never really tried for more. Not properly.
Even when the possibility of good drifted close, it always seemed just beyond reach. And somehow… that was enough.
And then they’d right slipped into it.
The typical American life.
A house. A job. Children.
On the surface, they seemed loving.
But love? Well.
Mike had never really, not even once, said the three magic words.
The closest he’d come was scribbling ”ly, Mike” on sticky notes back when they first started dating.
And that… left deep marks.
By now, Mike had his suspicions. His wife? Was probably cheating, she had to be, judging by the way she came home sometimes, all bright smiles and too much energy after pouring herself into that new golf club.
Strangely, it doesn’t hurt him.
Not like it should hurt.
In fact, it almost works in his favor.
It gives him a cover.
An excuse to be alone with himself.
A way not to have to pretend a love he no longer feels. Or never really felt.
So another day in the endless monotony of his life began. Mike opens his eyes. The other side of the bed was empty already, as if his wife had made a point of getting up early, just to avoid lingering too long in his company.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, sits up, and let the quiet press against him like it does every morning.
I let out a quiet sigh. Maybe if I stay up here long enough, I can avoid running into anyone. I really don’t have the energy for conversation today.
Mike never felt like talking anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had become… dull. Unremarkable. Even in his own eyes, he was uninteresting. Not that it mattered, maybe that was exactly what he deserved.
So like every other day, he reaches for his glasses and pushes himself upright.
The stairs groan under his weight as hes passing the walls that tracked his life.
Perfectly posed family photos , the colorful drawings of his children, and eventually, a few old snapshots of his childhood friends, nostalgic reminders of a time when life felt bigger, louder, and… somehow lighter.
And Between them, framed sketches of a cleric and a paladin, drawn by someone who had once been-
Don’t even think about it, he tells himself.
Mike grips the railing, needing something steady. A heavy exhale escapes him, loud in the quiet of the morning.
And then he hears it. Screaming. Already. He knows exactly what waits for him at the bottom.
By the time he reached the living room, there was no denying it. There she was, his daughter, bright and chaotic, covered it food. As well as The floor and her mother.
Already now he was sick of his own household again.
Mike learned how to ignore the mess around him. Like a shadow, he moved through the house.
And his wife? His wife had given up on him a long time ago. She doesn’t complain anymore when Mike passes her in the hallway, didn’t even look up when he heads to the door.
The newspaper waited on the doorstep. The mailbox was full. Mike takes care of both, like he always does.
Bills and adds and-
And then-
A letter.
The envelope is plain, except for the words scrawled across the front:
”BIG INVITATION.”
Mike first thinks that its one of those tea-party things his wife had been excited about. Another afternoon of polite smiles and tiny sandwiches. He almost tosses it aside, until- he sees the name.
His name.
And then he freezes.
And usually, Mike’s heart wouldn’t have skipped a beat at the sight of an invitation even though it’s rare for him to be invited anywhere.
But this was about something else. And his heart actually skipped a beat. For a reason.
His name.
The way it was written.
He knew that handwriting. Too well.
Mike peels open the wax-sealed envelope, careful but eager.
Inside, a card. Handwritten.
No time for fancy printing, no patience for perfection, just raw immediate words, as if the moment, the words, the message itself is too urgent to wait another day.
And Mike knows deep down, that whatever suspicion had been lingering in the back of his mind… would soon prove itself true.
The card is simple.
Just a small rainbow in the center, playful, innocent, like it belonged to someone who still believed in small joys.
Mike feels a grin tug at his lips, soft and automatic, unthinking.
Until he reads the next line.
And suddenly, the smile slips right off his face.
Will and Carlton invite you to our wedding
Mike’s chest tightens. The card in his hands trembles, quivering from the shake he can’t seem to stop.
This… shouldn’t affect him. It can’t affect him. So why, why does it?
”What-”
His eyes widen, a strange mix of shock and something else he can’t name.
”How? Since when…?”
Hectically, Mike’s hands are everywhere at once, patting his pockets, scanning his clothes desperate to find his phone.
His other hand clutched the card like it was a lifeline, like it might vanish if he let go. His palms are sweating. Swallowing feels impossible.
Finally, he fishes the phone out of his pocket. His fingers shake so badly they fumble on the screen, unlocking it only to have it slip again. And then, just barely, a sound cuts through the quiet.
Glass shattering against the concrete.
Mike exhales, a sharp, ragged sound.
What the hell is wrong with me?
Mike feels like a fool.
There’s no real reason for him to be this emotional, to be this much of a wreck, all because his old best friend invited him to his wedding?
It’s ridiculous.
He knows that.
Still, his chest aches.
He closes his eyes and lets out a slow, exhausted sigh, dragging a hand through his hair.
Mike sinks to his knees and reaches for his phone. The screen is spiderwebbed with shattered glass,but it lights up, it still works.
His home screen glows back at him. a photo from graduation day.
Oh damn. All of them together. The last time they were all in the same place, without knowing it was the last.
The past stares at him through broken glass.
As if caught in a trance, i walk back into the house. The noises around me muffled, dulled, as if i was underwater.
The scene waiting for him is the kind many fathers would enjoy. The kind Steve Harrington would adore at least.
His wife sits in the living room, gently rocking their crying six-year-old daughter, wiping food from her cheeks with practiced care.
At the table, his son is hunched over sheets of paper, coloring wildly, crayons scraping hard enough to snap under the too-heavy force of ten-year-old hands.
And Mike?
Mike barely feels his feet touch the floor.
He drags himself to the couch and drops into it, the cushions sagging beneath his weight. The TV stares back at him.
A news reporter voice cuts through his thoughts.
”After a severe earthquake, approximately nine thousand deaths have been confirmed.”
Mike doesn’t reach for the remote.
He just sits there, staring.
He barely listens. His gaze stayed unfocused, fixed somewhere beyond the television screen, his mind drifting as it so often did. Every now and then, he sighs.
”-the new iPhone confirmed, new scandals-but we also have incredible news. After decades, we are happy to announce equality has won. From now on, same-sex marriage is finally legal.”
Mike’s entire body freezes. Did he just hear what he thinks he did?
So- so it’s real, it’s actually true
His hand moves on its own, reaching for the remote, turning the volume up as if louder sound could make the words more real.
The TV fills the room with what feels like a million pictures of happiness, couples laughing, running to the courthouse, embracing, finally allowed to marry.
Mike can’t look away. His chest tightens. Something deep inside, something he didn’t even know he has been holding back trembles.
The world outside his quiet little living room suddenly feels larger. Lighter. More Possible.
”Its been only four days since it became officially legal. Four days. And already, over thirteen thousand LGBTQ couples had finally been allowed to live their love fully,in pride, in light, out in the open”
Four days. Four.
And Mike already got an invitation.