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Mike and Max stumbled through the bathroom, barely even holding on to each other when Max pushed off the sink and into the toilet to go throw up. Mike took the stall next to hers, throwing up in the toilet to the best of his ability before flopping back on the ground and putting his legs up against the stall door, breathing still heavy.
The weird numb feeling on his face was starting to recede enough that he could taste blood in his mouth now and feel all of the bruises and cuts and whatever else was probably on his face.
“The ceiling stopped spinning for me. Is it still spinning for you?” Mike asked, words slurred.
Max in her own stall let her arm fall on the back of the toilet, also resting on the bathroom floor and looked up.
“Holy shit. No.” Max murmered, words also slurring. There was a pause where Mike let out a snort, still staring up at the ceiling.
“You think we puked it all up?” Max asked.
The drugs from the Russians had been… something, that's for certain.
“Maybe. Ask me something.” Mike said, head lolling towards Max’s voice slightly before he imitated a Russian accent, “Interrogate me.”
Max snorted, “Ok. Sure, interrogate you.” she said, adjusting herself closer to the toilet to balance herself, “Uh, when was the last time you.. peed your pants?”
“Today.” Mike said, staring at the ceiling again, unsure now if it was still spinning or not.
“What?”
“Yeah, when the Russian started fucing punching my guts out.” Mike responded, half sarcastic as he pushed himself up and back to lean his back against the wall, groaning from the effort it took.
Max had laughter bubbling out slightly drunkenly, “Oh my god.”
“It was just a little bit.” Mike said, defensive now as he stared at the wall which he assumed Max was behind.
“Yeah its definitely still in your system.” Max muttered, mostly to herself as she rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Mike laughed a little suddenly, dissolving into sloppy giggles. Max had never heard him sound so free and uncaring. It was nice to see Mike drop the persona, even if it was because he was basically high still.
“Alright, my turn.” Mike said, giggles slowing.
“Ok, hit me.” Max said sarcastically.
“Have you ever…” Mike closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward for a moment, “Are you in love with Lucas?”
Max rubbed her black eye, muttering a ow as she thought over the answer.
“Yeah, I mean — look — don’t make fun of me.” She said, letting her hand fall in her lap, “He’s stupid a lot and makes me mad a lot. But he’s… he’s such a dork. In like, an endearing way, you know? And…”
She hesitated for a second, expression falling. Mike could tell even though he could see her.
“When Vecna cursed me… we were on better terms. Not great ones, but better.”
Another pause, then Max continued.
“But being stuck for that long in that fucked up mindscape, all I could think about was getting back to him. So yeah, I love him.”
Mike shook his head, fingers gently tugging on the strands of his hair. He’d cut it himself recently. It didn’t look half that bad to be completely onest.
“No — I mean, are you in love with him?”
There was another long pause. Mike could practically feel Max’s judgment coming off in waves. Judgment or understanding, he couldn’t tell, it always was like that with Max.
“Is it the impending doom by the hands of the Russin government or the vomiting that's got The Michael Wheeler talking about love?”
Mike rolled his eyes, but even that hurt with the mount of bruises he was covered in.
“Both, I guess.”
Max took that the wrong way.
“You miss her, don’t you? I miss her too… Look — I know you guys had problems but, I saw the way she looked at you, the way she talked about you. ”
Mike closed his eyes, knees folding up to his chest, forehead resting on his knees now as Max went on.
“I honestly didn’t get it, but that's my own thing.”
Another small pause, Mike pulled on the hair at the back of his head.
“El knew you loved her, Mike.”
“No. She didn’t.” Mike said, all of the previous sluggishness gone in his voice, replaced with sharpness once again.
Max’s eyes narrowed. The pause that followed felt like an eternity long, enough to make Max slightly worried and for her to really start noticing how much of her own puke she was covered in. She knocked on the wall separating the two of them three times.
“Mike? You didn’t OD in there, did you?”
“...No.” Mike’s voice was muffled.
Max frowned, taking a hold of the edge of the stall wall and sliding under it and into Mike’s stall, settling across from him now.
“The floor is disgusting.” Mike muttered, nose scrunching.
“Well…” Max muttered, looking down at herself, “I’ve already puked all over myself so, n point worrying now.”
Mike snorted, but his head fell back against the wall again, the slight smile on his face already vanishing. Max sighed.
“Come on, Mike. It shocked me to my core, and I never thought I would say this with a straight face, but I like you. I really really like you. Even though you’re stubborn, and argumentative, and kind of an ass most of the time.”
That last part got Mike to smile a little.
“But,” Max continued, “You also have more fire and more heart in you than anyone i have ever met before. Maybe with the exception of El.”
She shook her head, like she was redirecting her thoughts, “But what I am saying is: You’re a good friend. And no, you weren’t the best boyfriend but you cared about her. Anybody could see that.”
“Stop trying to make me feel better.” Mike responded, eyes flicking away.
“When have I ever tried making you feel better?”
“Right now. Because I wasn’t a good friend. And I wasn’t ever a good boyfriend. And if you knew—”
Mike cut himself off, letting his forehead fall forward again, running frustrated hands through his hair because how could he even begin to explain this feeling to Max.
“If you knew why, you would never forgive me.”
Mike let his hands fall back down, staring at the space in front of him instead of Max.
“Talk to me, Wheeler.” Max murmured softly.
Mike took a deep breath in and shrugged.
“When I met El, we were both just kids. Even as grown up as I thought I was. We were all just kids. And she went through things that were… unimaginable. And she needed someone.”
Mike shrugged.
“So did I. It wasn’t fate or destiny or any of that bullshit. It was just luck that we met her that night in the forest. But, being around her? It felt safe.”
Mike couldn’t look at Max if he tried. He wasn’t even sure where he was going with this, rambling about something stupid. Except you didn’t think about stupid things for hours in your bedroom or write songs about it on your bed in the middle of the night.
“Not just the whole… superpower thing. It felt… It felt like she didn’t have any expectation of who I was or what I was supposed to be like. And you know what? Maybe Lucas was right. I did like that El didn’t think I was weird or a frogface or a geek.”
His eyes flicked to her briefly then away faster than he thought was possible.
“That was because she didn’t know what those things were. So when El came back, it felt like, with her, I would be able to be myself. All of myself.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, swallowing again.
“There was always a part of me that kinda… scared me. But I thought if El loved me, I wouldn’t be so scared anymore.”
The words came out soft and vulnerable. Everything Mike wasn’t. But the words hardened again with Mike’s next few words.
“And then she left for California and my entire fantasy life with her, along with the rest of my life, pretty much imploded before my eyes. And waiting for that spring break was torture. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus. But what made it ten times worse… it wasn’t because I was excited or nervous to see El again. It was because I couldn't stop thinking about seeing Will again.”
Max’s fingers stopped where they’d been picking absentmindedly at ripped fish-patterned fabric around her knee. The silence after hit wrong. Too immediate. Too understanding. She sucked in a breath. Mike shrugged.
“We hadn’t talked in months, and I tried calling that summer, but Mrs. Byers was always on the phone. And I just started getting angry every time I would try and talk to him — and would get that fucking busy line tone in my ear. So I stopped.”
A pause. Max still didn’t interrupt, it was as if she wanted to hear it all.
“El talked about him a lot in the letters. I started rereading only the parts that mentioned Will. I beyond hated not talking to him. It felt like not knowing what was going on with him, through him, was so much worse. The El mentioned that Will was making a painting for a girl and that anger — it just came back in full force.”
“I got off that plane in Lenora. When I saw El, everything felt fine, but I looked over. He was holding that goddamn painting. And I was pissed all over again. He gave me that painting a few days later. He said it was just a part of our campaign but he kept talking about this… version of me that El saw. This version seemed like I wasn’t just some guy who got lucky that a superhero liked him but like I was one myself. And for a moment, I believed him.”
The pipes overhead groaned somewhere in the walls. One of the bathroom lights buzzed loud enough that Mike wanted to rip it out with his bare hands.
His gaze snagged on the toilet bowl in front of him instead. There was dried blood over his knuckles. He couldn’t remember whose.
“But the more he explained…” Mike swallowed. “The less those words felt like hers.”
Mike closed his eyes, gently pressing his finger into them. God that hurt so bad but maybe that was the point. When he opened his eyes again, this time he looked straight at Max.
“I loved El, I swear I did. When I blurted it out in front of everybody, it was true. But when she kissed me before she left for Lenora and she told me she loved me too, the words sounded… so weird. I couldn’t understand it and I doubt El really ever did either, but I couldn’t say them again. And it only got worse the longer she was gone. I didn’t want to lie to her. I couldn’t keep lying to her. We were travelling across state lines, being chased by military, not knowing if El was ok or where she even was, and Will kept talking about how this was the way El saw me.”
Mike’s hands came around the back of his neck, fingernails scratching the skin.
“All I could think about was how much I wished it was Will that saw me that way. It was never Eleven — never anything she did. It was always just… me.”
Mike was no longer looking at Max, but he felt her lean forward.
“I didn’t — I didn’t want it to be true. And I was so fucking scared of how it felt, of what it meant. It was all so fucking stupid and I was just a coward.”
Mike looked up now.
“That painting he said El commissioned for me, what Will said when he gave me it, it was him. I saw it.”
Mike remembered watching him in the backseat of Jonathan’s car so vividly. Remembered seeing him turn away, remembered watching his shoulders shake with sobs he refused to sound out loud, remembered the way he did nothing about it.
“He was scared too,” Mike continued, “that crush of his, that wasn’t like him?”
“It was you.” Max finished for him.
Mike closed his eyes again, hoping the stupid burning sensation in his eyes would go away. , “Yeah. He couldn’t tell me how he felt and I couldn’t tell him I knew. And El was in trouble and Hawkins was falling apart.”
Mike hated the way his voice cracked.
“And I just — I wasted so much time. Now El is gone and Will… he moved on.”
“Wow.” Max murmured, scoffing through her nose, “you really are that stupid.”
“That’s not funny, Max.” Mike said, half groaning.
“It’s not meant to be funny.” Max replied instantly.
Another pause followed.
“He lied, Mike.”
Mike scoffed, “Will doesn’t lie.”
“Oh? He doesn’t?”
“Not to me.”
“And you realized he liked you how?”
“...oh.”
“Hopeless.” Max murmured before pulling Mike into the most bone crushing hug he’d ever gotten.
Mike went stiff immediately, shoulders locking under Max’s grip like she’d wrapped barbed wire around him instead of arms.
“Max—”
“Shut up.”
“You’re crushing my ribs.”
“Good.”
The fluorescent light overhead buzzed. Somewhere outside the bathroom a cart rattled across tile. Everything else felt strangely still.
Mike laughed once through his nose because of course this was the person he ended up confessing his entire life to — Max fucking Mayfield in a Scoops bathroom covered in puke. The laugh cracked halfway through.
He felt it before he registered it; heat dragging over swollen skin beneath his eye, then another.
Mike’s hand came up instantly, rough over his face. Gone like it never happened.
Max’s grip tightened once. And that was it.
“I’m going to drag you out by the ankles if you fall asleep.” Max muttered half threateningly and Mike could only laugh into her shoulder. She eventually let him go.
“You’re dramatic.”
“And you look like roadkill. Same difference.” Max told him, shoving him toward the sinks so he could wash the blood and sweat and vomit off his face.
They stumbled back through the hallways after that, shoulders bumping every couple of steps from exhaustion more than affection, both of them quieter now. The high from the drugs had mostly burned out of Mike’s system, leaving behind something worse — every bruise blooming awake under his skin all at once. His jaw ached where the Russian had hit him. His ribs screamed every time he breathed too deep. There was dried blood flaking near his mouth and one half of his face had swollen enough that any expression felt strange.
Still, none of that was what his brain stayed stuck on. Not the Russians. Not Starcourt. Not almost dying for what felt like the fiftieth time in three years. Will.
The drive home was mostly silent.
Karen had started crying the second she opened the front door and saw him standing there looking half dead in his stupid Scoops uniform. Ted barely glanced up from the couch before muttering something about “kids getting into trouble” under his breath. Holly had stared at Mike with huge horrified eyes from the hallway before Karen rushed her upstairs.
Mike endured exactly seven minutes of being fussed over before snapping that he was fine when his mother tried cleaning the cut near his eyebrow. After that she let him escape upstairs with a tired look that somehow made him feel worse than yelling would have.
His room was dark except for the moonlight leaking weakly through the blinds. The familiar space should’ve felt comforting after everything that had happened over the summer, but instead it just felt… stale. Too small for his thoughts, too full of ghosts. D&D books were still stacked crookedly near his desk. Dirty clothes littered the floor. A campaign map Will had doodled almost a year ago was still shoved halfway under Mike’s bed where nobody had bothered touching it.
Mike shut the door behind himself and just stood there for a moment, breathing hard through his nose.
Then he moved. It hit him all at once, sudden and frantic and unbearable.
He dropped to his knees beside the bed hard enough that pain shot up through them immediately, yanking open drawers so violently they nearly fell off the tracks. Shirts got thrown over his shoulder without thought. Not there. He reached under the bed next, fingers brushing dust and old notebooks before finding nothing again. His breathing started coming quicker now, uneven from panic more than exertion.
The closet. It had to be the closet.
Mike shoved himself upright with a curse when pain exploded through his ribs, staggering toward the closet before ripping through old board games and boxes stacked at the bottom. His baseball glove hit the wall. A pile of old school papers scattered across the carpet.
Then finally—
The shoebox. Old and slightly crushed at one corner, shoved behind a stack of sweaters like Mike had tried hiding it from himself more than anyone else.
Mike froze staring at it.
His chest hurt.
Slowly now, almost carefully, he pulled the box free and sat back down on the floor with it in his lap. The cardboard looked worn from how many times he’d opened it over the months. There were faded marker stains near the lid from when he’d used the box to store comic books years ago. He swallowed hard before lifting the top off.
Letters. Stacks and stacks of folded paper bundled together with crooked rubber bands. Forty three exactly.
Mike let out a quiet sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, tipping his head back against the side of his bed. Jesus Christ.
For a second he just stared at them, at physical proof of something he’d spent months trying not to name. His fingers hovered over the nearest bundle before finally grabbing one of the older letters from the top, unfolding it with hands rougher than he remembered.
The paper crackled softly.
“Max is being her usual annoying self. Dunno why we invited her in the group to be honest. Max and Lucas spend time with each other mostly now. Dustin is always busy talking to his girlfriend on the phone. I’m… here.”
Mike shut his eyes briefly.
He could remember writing this one late at night at his desk while rain hit the windows outside. He’d been angry then. Angry at Will for leaving even though it wasn’t Will’s fault. Angry at El for leaving too. Angry at himself for sitting by the radio every day waiting for calls that never came.
Another letter.
“Hey Will. I’m not sure why I still write to you. You used to call me brave but I can’t even send these to you.
The next line looked shakier than the rest.
I miss you, Will. I miss you so much it kind of hurts.”
Mike’s stomach twisted violently.
He kept reading.
Letter after letter after letter.
Some were only a paragraph long. Some rambled for pages. There were crossed out lines scratched over so aggressively they nearly tore through the paper itself. Half formed confessions buried under complaints about Hawkins and school and Dustin and his mom making meatloaf again. Tiny pieces of himself scattered through every page like Mike had been bleeding out slowly for months and never noticed.
“El talks about you a lot. I find myself focusing on what she’s saying about you more than her. That’s normal, right?”
Mike laughed softly through his nose at that, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes. Hopeless. Another letter.
“Dad keeps complaining about those LGBTQ parades on TV. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about it. I dunno. I don't think they're hurting anybody. Mom told him to shut up which was weird because she never does that.
I keep thinking about it though.
And lower down:
I feel wrong, Will.”
Mike stared at those words the longest.
His own handwriting looked almost foreign now, uneven and hesitant, like he’d known exactly what he meant while also trying desperately not to.
Another page.
“El keeps saying I never tell her I love her anymore. I just can’t. Can’t keep lying to everybody.”
Mike’s breath caught. Slowly, he started noticing it. Every sign off. Every single one.
-love, Mike.
Not from Mike. Not your friend. Not even just Mike.
Love.
Forty three letters and he still never managed to actually say it outright to anybody.
Mike let the papers fall into his lap as he leaned his head back against the bed again, staring blankly at the ceiling. The house around him had gone quiet hours ago. Somewhere downstairs the dishwasher groaned softly. A car passed outside. Everything else felt suspended, frozen in place while Mike sat cross legged on his bedroom floor surrounded by months worth of failed attempts at understanding himself.
He thought about Will crying quietly in the backseat of Jonathan’s car while pretending he wasn’t. Thought about the painting. The tower. Thought about every lingering look Mike had ignored because looking too closely felt dangerous.
Forty three letters.
Normal people did not write forty three unsent letters to one person. The realization settled over him slowly, heavily, impossible to shove away now that it had finally taken shape.
Oh.
Oh.
March 22.
Mike had spent all day wondering what he should give to Will for his birthday. The realization sat ugly in his chest because for the first time in months, maybe years, the answer had felt obvious.
He couldn’t give him a comic book, or dice, or some stupid inside joke gift that would make Will smile and Dustin roll his eyes.
Truth. That's all he had left. And Mike Wheeler had never been particularly good at that.
Three days earlier, lunch period had sounded the same as it always did, too loud and crowded, hundreds of conversations overlapping until they became one giant unbearable noise. Plastic trays scraped over tables. Somebody across the cafeteria laughed loud enough that half the room turned to stare. Mike sat hunched over his untouched fries with his history textbook open beside him, pretending to revise while mostly staring at the same sentence for ten minutes straight.
Senior year had somehow become normal. Which was maybe the weirdest thing of all. After Russian torture bases and alternate dimensions and losing people and almost losing people — normal should’ve felt impossible.
Instead, it happened slowly.
Lucas complained about basketball practice. Dustin complained about college applications despite secretly loving every second of the process. Max and Mike had developed some terrifying unspoken communication that usually ended with somebody else getting insulted. Will drew in the margins of notebooks when teachers weren’t looking and still scrunched his nose slightly when concentrating.
Normal happened.
Mike wasn’t sure when.
“You’re doing the thing again.”
Mike blinked.
“What?”
Max didn’t look up from stabbing at something vaguely resembling pizza with a plastic fork. Her hair was longer now, less jagged around the edges. The bruises from Starcourt had faded months ago.
“The staring thing.” She said flatly. “It’s creepy.”
“I’m reading.”
“You’ve been on the same page since biology.”
Mike frowned automatically and looked down. She was right.
“…Shut up.”
Max snorted softly through her nose before leaning sideways a little closer, voice dropping enough that nobody else at the table noticed.
“When are you gonna do it?”
Mike froze immediately. His eyes stayed fixed stubbornly on the textbook.
“Do what?”
The kick under the table landed hard against his shin.
“Ow— Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t play dumb with me.”
Across from them Dustin was arguing loudly with Lucas about something college related while El listened with the distant patience of somebody watching zoo animals. Will sat beside Lucas sketching absentmindedly over a worksheet, completely unaware.
Mike swallowed. His voice dropped lower.
“Soon.”
Max stared. The kind that made Mike feel twelve years old again and deeply disappointing.
“Mike.”
“What?”
“When.”
Another pause. His fingers tightened around the edge of the tray. The answer existed now, had existed for months. Ever since forty three letters stopped being denial and started becoming proof.
Mike exhaled hard through his nose.
“…On his birthday.”
Max blinked.
“What?”
Mike looked away instantly.
“His birthday.” He muttered again, quieter this time. “Happy?”
For once Max didn’t respond immediately. The annoyance dropped out of her expression for half a second and something softer took its place.
Then, because she was Max, “You better do it.”
Mike rolled his eyes.
“Or what?”
“I’ll tell him myself.”
That got his attention.
His head snapped around instantly.
“You would not.”
Max raised an eyebrow. Mike stared. Max kept staring. A beat passed.
“…You absolutely would.” Mike muttered finally.
“Exactly.”
The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
Mike looked away before she noticed his own.
Will’s birthday. The Byers house sounded alive. Not loud in the overwhelming way Hawkins High was loud — warmer than that, softer.
Jonathan had music playing low from somewhere in the kitchen. Joyce kept insisting everyone eat more despite there already being enough food scattered across counters to feed twice the people present. Lucas and Dustin were arguing over game rules from the living room.
The world had ended enough times that moments like this felt strangely precious now.
Mike noticed them more. He noticed Will more. Which maybe was the same thing.
“…That’s cheating.”
Mike looked up instantly. Will sat cross legged opposite him on the floor, cards fanned out in his hands and outrage written all over his face. Mike scoffed.
“It’s Uno. How do you cheat at Uno?”
Will stared.
“You stacked a draw four onto Max.”
“Yeah?”
“You can’t do that.”
“Yes you can.”
“No you can’t!”
Mike grinned despite himself, feeling something familiar settle warm beneath his ribs. Arguing with Will had always been easy. Across the circle Dustin gasped dramatically.
“Oh my God, he’s right. Wheeler’s cheating.”
“Traitor.” Mike muttered.
“I go where justice calls.”
Lucas snorted into his drink. Max looked deeply unimpressed. Will rolled his eyes but there was laughter hiding underneath it now, shoulders shaking slightly. Mike looked too long.
Will’s hair was a little longer these days, his smile came easier than it had after California, and the crease between his eyebrows appeared every time he thought somebody was being unfair.
Mike knew all of those things. His stomach twisted uncomfortably.
Mike looked up accidentally then, toward Max.
Wrong choice. Max was already watching. One eyebrow lifted slowly. Silent.
When?
Mike stared for a second, then glanced toward Will, back at Max. He nodded once.
Later.
After.
Max’s expression didn’t change. But something in her shoulders loosened.
A tiny finally.
Then she dropped a draw four onto Mike’s pile without warning. His head snapped back instantly.
“What the hell—?”
“Payback.” Max said simply.
Will laughed. Mike hated how his chest hurt around it, only enough to remind him there were forty three letters wrapped in ribbon in his backpack.
Waiting.
The party emptied out eventually. Lucas and Dustin had been the first to go, arguing loudly halfway down the driveway about whether Dustin had cheated during cards while neither listened to the other. Jonathan mumbled a tired happy birthday and got shoved lightly for his effort. Joyce kissed the top of Will’s head on her way upstairs, fingers lingering in his hair for a second too long in the way mothers tended to do when they remembered old fears.
Normal. Everything felt painfully normal.
Max was the last to leave. One hand already on the front door, jacket half zipped while she turned and looked directly at Mike. Her eyebrows lifted once.
When?
Mike stared back for half a second before rolling his eyes hard enough it almost hurt. Her mouth twitched. Then she was gone. The front door shut behind her with a soft click.
“What the hell was that?” Will asked immediately, snorting lightly as he turned the lock.
His hair had gotten messy over the evening, pushed out of place from Dustin grabbing at him dramatically during some argument hours ago. There was still the faintest flush high on his cheeks from laughing. Mike looked away first.
“Nothing too concerning.” He muttered.
Will blinked.
“…That sounds concerning.”
“It’s not.”
Will stared another second before huffing a laugh through his nose and shaking his head. “Right.”
Silence settled after that. The house sounded different with everyone gone. The kitchen sink running softly downstairs where Joyce cleaned up. Floorboards creaking overhead. Wind brushing weakly against windows.
Mike swallowed.
His pulse had been weird all night.
The backpack he’d brought sat near the couch where he’d dropped it earlier, heavy in a way paper shouldn’t be. Will noticed him glancing toward it almost immediately. His eyebrows furrowed.
“…You ok?”
Mike’s head snapped back too fast. “Yeah.”
A beat.
“No.”
Will blinked. Mike looked at the ceiling instantly. Apparently honesty had become easier and harder all at once.
“I mean— yeah. I’m fine.” He corrected too quickly. “I just… Can you come outside for a second?”
Will frowned. “Outside?”
Mike nodded once.
“Why?”
The answer sat behind Mike’s teeth. Forty two letters. The feeling of his bedroom floor digging into his legs while realizing normal people didn’t do that. Instead he shrugged.
“I got you something.”
Will looked genuinely confused now.
“You already got me something. The dice set.”
“Not that.”
Another pause. The furrow between Will’s eyebrows deepened.
“…Mike.”
Mike hated that look. The one that always seemed to know something was wrong before Mike said a word.
“Please?” Mike muttered finally.
The word came out quieter than intended.
Will’s expression shifted instantly.
“…Yeah.” Will said after a second. “Okay.”
The ladder leading up to the roof still creaked exactly the same. Mike went first mostly because if he thought too long, he’d chicken out and spend another year pretending things were fine. Or ten.
The metal rung dug painfully into his palms as he climbed.
“This is stupid.” Will muttered behind him.
Mike snorted despite himself. “You say that about everything.”
“You’re making me break into my own house.”
“It’s not breaking in if you live here.”
“Yeah, it is.”
The familiar bickering settled some of Mike’s nerves for exactly three seconds before they returned twice as hard.
The roof was cold, lingering in sleeves and ears and fingertips. Hawkins stretched below them in patches of yellow porch lights and sleeping houses. Somebody’s dog barked in the distance. The world looked small from up here.
Will dropped down beside him carefully. His shoulder bumped Mike’s for half a second, neither moved away. For a while, nothing happened. Mike’s heartbeat felt loud enough to hear. Will tipped his head back toward the sky.
“It’s weird.” He murmured eventually.
Mike swallowed.
“What is?”
“Being eighteen.”
The answer surprised a laugh out of Mike. Will smiled faintly.
“I used to think…” His voice trailed off before returning softer. “I dunno. I thought we’d feel older.”
Mike stared ahead at the street.
The answer came before he thought about it. “I think we already are.”
A longer pause followed this time. Will didn’t disagree. Then Mike moved before courage disappeared. He reached for the backpack beside him and yanked the zipper open harder than necessary. Will frowned instantly.
“…You brought homework to my birthday?”
Mike ignored him. His fingers hesitated once over the stack buried at the bottom before grabbing it. Paper and ribbon, woen corners softened from years of being unfolded and shoved away again.
Mike’s stomach dropped. Then he shoved them toward Will before he could stop himself.
Will blinked. His hands came up automatically, catching the bundle awkwardly. The confusion appeared first. Then disbelief. Then something Mike couldn’t name.
“…Mike.”
Mike immediately focused on the street below. Coward.
Will turned the stack over slowly, brows pulling together.
“This is…” His thumb caught on the ribbon. “These are letters.”
Mike’s throat tightened. “…Yeah.”
Will stared again. “This is like, thirty letters, Mike.” His voice sounded genuinely incredulous now. “I would’ve been fine with one as my birthday gift.”
The answer slipped out before Mike could stop it. “Forty two.”
Mike froze. Then physically cringed at himself. Christ. His eyes shut instantly.
“Forget I said that.”
Next to him Will blinked. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You counted?”
Mike wanted the roof to cave in. “No.”
Pause.
“…Mike.”
“…I counted.”
A snort escaped Will before he could stop it. Then quieter, “You counted.”
Mike rubbed a hand over his face aggressively, “I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
The response came easy. For one terrifying second Mike thought yeah. That’s kinda the whole problem. Will looked back down eventually. His fingers moved slower now. The ribbon slipped loose.
Paper shifted softly in the wind.
Mike stopped breathing. This was no longer hypothetical. This wasn’t forty two letters hidden in a shoebox under his bed. This was Will, reading and knowing his deepest and darkest secret. Mike could only sit beside him on a roof in Hawkins, Indiana and watch himself unravel in real time through years worth of unsent words.
Mike watched Will’s face slowly change expressions as he scanned through the letters. It started off easy enough.
“Max’s been so annoying.”
Then it started becoming more complicated.
“Dad was complaining about the LGBTQ parade… I don’t think they’re hurting anybody.”
The smile faded.
“I miss you, Will. I miss you so much it kind of hurts.”
Will’s fingers stopped moving.
Mike’s stomach dropped somewhere near his knees. Another letter.
“I feel wrong, Will.”
The wind shifted around them softly, carrying the smell of wet pavement and somebody’s fireplace several streets away. Neither noticed. Will kept reading, carefully too, like every page deserved something gentler than Mike had given himself when writing them.
Mike hated it. Hated watching years worth of confusion laid bare in messy handwriting and scratched out sentences and coffee stains near the corners. Hated the way Will’s expression kept tightening, loosening, changing. Hated not knowing what any of it meant.
Then Will reached the end of one. His thumb caught against the sign off. Mike noticed immediately.
—love, Mike.
Will frowned slightly. His eyes flicked to another. Again.
—love, Mike.
Again.
—love, Mike.
Mike swallowed hard enough it hurt.
Because Will knew Mike struggled saying love even when people begged for it and how long Mike stayed stuck in almosts and maybes and things unsaid. Knew Mike weaponized avoidance until nobody — including himself — could tell where fear ended and truth started.
And yet. Forty two letters. Every single one ending the same. Will lowered one page eventually.
Immediate panic bloomed in Mike’s chest. Silence usually meant something bad. His laugh came out too fast.
“I know it sounds insane.”
Will looked up. Mike didn’t. His gaze stayed fixed somewhere over the dark neighborhood instead, on distant porch lights and empty roads and anything that wasn’t Will looking at him.
“And I know I messed up.” His fingers dug into the sleeves of his jacket. “Like, a lot.”
The laugh happened again. Still no humor. “I kept thinking if I ignored it, maybe it’d stop.”
Mike swallowed.
“You gave me chances.”
That got Will still. The way prey animals went still before deciding whether to run. Mike kept going because stopping meant thinking and thinking meant turning around and climbing back down the ladder and spending another year pretending.
“The painting. The walk back. The tower. Looking at me like…”
His throat tightened around the words.
“And I kept choosing wrong.”
Will opened his mouth immediately. Mike steamrolled right over him.
“No because— wait— just let me finish because if I stop talking I’m probably never gonna say any of this again—”
His breathing sounded uneven now.
“I know I don’t deserve—”
“Stop.”
Sharp. Mike froze. His head turned slowly. Will’s eyes looked glassy in the dark. He looked close to crying.
“Don’t do that.” Will said again, quieter this time.
Mike blinked.
“…Do what?”
Will let out one broken sounding laugh through his nose and shook his head immediately after like he regretted it.
“Act like you’re awful.”
The words landed somewhere strange inside Mike. Nobody had ever defended him there before. Silence stretched between them. Wind. The distant bark of a dog.
“Mike…”
Will looked back down at the letters in his lap. His thumb pressed over one folded edge absentmindedly.
“You wrote forty two letters.”
His voice cracked slightly around the number. And suddenly the stupid thing was, Mike understood what he meant. Not you wrote forty two letters. More: People who don’t care don’t do this. People who moved on don’t do this. People who feel nothing don’t spend years writing to someone they think they’ve lost.
Mike’s chest hurt. His next words came out too quickly like ripping off skin. “I really do like you.”
Immediate regret. His face heated instantly, so he kept talking.
“I think maybe I have for a long time and I’m still trying to figure out what that means and I know this is late and maybe I missed something and maybe you’ve moved on or maybe I’m ruining everything and—”
Will moved. His hand came up, cold fingers against Mike’s jaw, gentle.. As if Mike might disappear if he held on too tight. Mike stopped talking instantly.
His brain just blanked.
And then Will kissed him. It was soft and awkward. Nothing like the movies Dustin always referenced. It felt surprised as if neither of them fully believed it was happening.
Mike didn’t move at first. His entire brain genuinely seemed to stop functioning. Then slowly, he kissed back, tentatively almost. Years packed into something tiny. Cold noses bumping slightly wrong and dry lips turning warm after a second too long. Into relief.
When they pulled apart they stayed close. Mike stared. Blinked once. Twice. It was like rebooting.
“…Woah.”
The word sounded wrecked. Will’s mouth twitched despite wet eyes. Mike kept staring.
“You kissed me.”
Will suddenly looked nervous. His hand dropped immediately from Mike’s face.
“…Yeah.”
Beat. Mike looked at him another second, blinking again.
“Holy shit.”
The laugh escaped Will before he could stop it. Mike thought maybe it was the best sound he’d ever heard. Still dazed, still staring like someone had rearranged the universe without warning, Mike swallowed once.
“…I thought I missed my chance.”
Will blinked and actually smacked his own forehead with the heel of his palm. The sound startled a laugh out of Mike immediately.
“What—?”
Will stared at him like he was impossible, like he’d spent years trying to solve a problem with an answer sitting right there.
“You are so stupid sometimes.” Will muttered, voice thick.
Mike’s eyebrows pulled together instantly.
“…Excuse me?”
Will laughed again, this one shakier. His eyes looked suspiciously wet now. “You gave me forty two letters and thought you missed your chance.”
Mike opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Nothing useful appeared in his mind. Will shook his head once, disbelieving. Then leaned forward. His forehead bumped lightly against Mike’s. The kind of closeness that didn’t ask for anything.
Mike stopped breathing for a second.
“You idiot.” Will murmured, not unkindly this time.
The words sat somewhere between fond and devastated. Mike stared. He huffed one bewildered laugh through his nose.
After Russians and monsters and years of getting things wrong, this was what his happy ending looked like. A roof, forty two letters, Will Byers calling him stupid with his forehead pressed against Mike’s own. And maybe that made sense.
It was always going to be Will.
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