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Chapter Text

1997 – Chicago

“And then you hold the pan firmly, push it forward, and lift it at the same time. Aaand the crêpe flips -you catch it and place it back on the stove,” he explained, watching the expression on her face. As she looked at him with that open, unmistakable admiration, he felt like there was nothing in the world he couldn’t handle.

“You’re the best” she said.

“Of course I am,” he replied with a laugh.

A good breakfast would do them both good before heading out. As Mike cooked the last crêpe, she carried the small breakfast things over to the table, careful not to drop anything. Watching her from behind, he thought about how extraordinary she was. She truly was.

So much had happened. That they had found each other.

That was enough...

They shared a pleasant breakfast, talking about the trip ahead. It would be nearly a three-hour drive. But the real point was never the length of the road.
It was the journey itself.

Getting on the road took longer than they’d planned. Between eating, washing the dishes afterward, and getting dressed, they had already gone past the time they had planned. And then Mike noticed the front left tire -it was flat.

It felt as if something was telling him, "don’t go on this trip".

Ridiculous.

And yet, he was genuinely tense about the journey. The reason went back years -back to 1989.

The moment he saw the Leaving Hawkins sign, a weight settled in his chest.
Strange feelings-impossible to put into words.

His childhood. The D&D campaigns. School. The Party. His sisters. His mother. Everything that had happened. And El... His first love. His first truly love
It felt as though he was leaving her behind too, along with everything else.

She was everywhere in Hawkins. Her trace was woven into every corner of the town. And in the first place, Hawkins owed its existence to her. Not just Hawkins-the entire world did.
In 1987, the most wonderful girl he had ever known had saved the world by sacrificing herself.

And yet almost no one knew her.
Only him-and a handful of others.

That was unfair.

It was a kindness great enough to warrant renaming the planet itself-calling it El instead of Earth. And still, she was known by no one beyond a few souls.
Unfair.

The world had given her nothing. Her infancy, her childhood-both taken from her. And now her youth as well.
After being free for only four years, she had sacrificed herself for a universe that had never given her anything in return. Even during those four years, she had never truly found peace.

Almost all of her life had been lived in unrest.

Unfair.

But he believed.
She was alive.

Maybe not there. Maybe not with him. And maybe they would never see each other again-
he let out a deep breath.

All he wished for was her happiness. That she was happy. That she had found the peace she was always talking about, always searching for.

If he were allowed to be selfish, even just a little, Mike still wanted her. He wanted her to find a way to send him a message one day, to leave him a sign, a direction-to hold her again, to breathe in that beautiful scent of hers.

Of course… if she still wanted him.

Back then, in the last conversations they had while she was in that void, she had said, “I will always be with you.”
One part of him clung to that.
The other part knew it was impossible.

Because it was dangerous. Because he still felt it-as if someone’s breath was right at the back of his neck. It felt as though the world itself was standing against them-against their happiness. “They won’t understand us,” Mike whispered.

He went to college. He kept himself busy in the rush of life.

And he wrote… He wrote a lot.

He turned what he lived through into a fictional universe. His books took off in ways he never expected, -and even though the world hadn’t given her what she deserved-, the world came to know that magnificent mage.

Eleanor.

While writing the books, he used the words of love he never dared to put into the letters he sent to El. Because in the books, Miles is braver. His confidence is stronger than the real Mike’s. He speaks words of love to Eleanor-shows it through both his actions and his words. Miles is a good young man, worthy of Eleanor. And Eleanor is happy to hear those words spoken to her.

Everything is fine.

Eleanor loves, and is loved. She saves the world again and again-from villains and from monsters. The books keep coming, one after another, and Mike never wants to return to the town he once left behind.

Until today.

After replacing the flat tire with the spare in the garage, everything is ready for the trip. He starts the car and turns the ring on his left index finger with three fingers of his right hand. Alongside the tension inside him, there’s something sweet as well.

He and his traveling companion.

Tonight, the only unusual thing isn’t that Mike is heading back to Hawkins. He smiles at the other passenger, turns on the radio, and they set off toward Hawkins-for Thanksgiving.

1997 – Hawkins

“And… done,” she said with satisfaction. The menu was exactly the way she wanted it. Everything was in order. The only thing missing now was the guests.

She made coffee for herself and for Ted, handed him his mug, and sank into her favorite chair.

Thanksgiving.

Everyone was supposed to be here this year. Nancy had arrived yesterday. Dustin, Lucas, and Max were already in town. The Hopper family was almost here. Jonathan and Will were expected as well. Holly would be coming with Derek. Steve and Robin were coming, too. Nancy had spoken to all of them.

That was good.

But what about Michael?

Karen took a deep breath. Her son hadn’t set foot in that house for years. Since going off to college, he hadn’t come back-always for one reason or another. Internships. Writing. Especially writer’s block. He traveled a lot. He sent postcards from everywhere he went. She called him often, but he never gave many details.

They had seen each other again when she visited Nancy’s place, but the truth was, they hadn’t really been face to face in three years.

Would he come tonight?

The last time they spoke, he had said he might. But would he really? At least he hadn’t refused outright. There was still hope.

The sound of the doorbell pulled her out of her thoughts. When she opened the door, she saw Nancy and behind her, Jonathan, Steve, and Robin. Stepping aside, she welcomed them with a warm smile.

“Welcome, kids.”

They exchanged greetings, and just as the door was about to close, she heard Dustin shout, “Mrs. Wheeler!!”

He came running up, with Lucas and Max walking calmly behind him. Dustin tried to say hello, but he was out of breath from running and could only manage a wave. Karen couldn’t help but laugh. He was twenty-six years old now, but in that moment—at least in that way-he was no different from his twelve-year-old self.

As everyone headed inside, the phone rang.

“Wheelers” Karen said, answering the call.

— Hey, Mom.
— Michael!
— We’re on the road. I think we’ll be there in about two hours. Uh... Mom-I have to hang up, she’s feeling sick-SEE YOU, MOM!
— Mich-..

We?
She?

Oh…

A gentle smile spread across her face. So he wasn’t coming alone. Maybe-finally-everything had fallen into place for her son. A Thanksgiving miracle.

The doorbell rang, pulling her out of her thoughts. She followed Nancy as she went to open the door.

And the arrivals were: the Hoppers. And Will.

— Welcome!
— Thank you! Oh my God, it’s freezing out there!
— Isn’t it?
— Yeah… how have you been?

Greetings followed one after another. Everyone talked about what they’d been up to. When Holly and Derek arrived as well, the group was complete.

Everyone was there-except Mike.

Karen was waiting for him. In truth, everyone was. He hadn’t come in previous years-not for Thanksgiving, not for Christmas, not for Easter…

Dustin finally asked the question that was on everyone’s mind, his voice hesitant.

— Mike?

Everyone looked at one another-but Karen’s face was glowing, “he’s coming” she said happily. Smiles spread across the room, wide and genuine, because after eight long years, Mike would finally be setting foot in that town again.

Karen continued, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice: "And from what I understand, he’s not coming alone. He said, ‘we’re on the road.’ And just before hanging up, he said, ‘she’s feeling sick.’ I think he’s coming with a girl.”

Eyes widened all around the room. They glanced at one another, surprised, curious.

Hopper spoke up. “If that’s what you think it is, Karen, then I’m glad that kid finally gets to move on. He deserves that.”

The others agreed with him. They had all witnessed-up close-how badly those years had treated Mike. At least the first two years of it, they had seen in brutal detail.

Night after night, he drank himself numb. He cried. He had breakdowns. He used drugs. He withdrew further and further into himself. And, tragically, he attempted to end his life more than once.

Nancy had stood by him through those days. She had gathered every knife in the house, every weapon, every pair of scissors, box cutters, axes, screwdrivers-anything sharp. She had locked away the medication.
But she couldn’t catch everything. She hadn’t been able to stop her brother from cutting his wrist with a shard of broken glass. Holly had found him once, too-barely alive.
Those were terrifying days for her. After that, protecting Mike became an obsession, she watched him constantly, listened for every sound, learned to recognize the smallest signs. She was just a child, but she carried the fear as if it were her responsibility alone.

Because without El, Mike had been completely lost.

He had been lost before-yes-but this time was different. Not only because she hadn’t come back, but because now they had more memories together. More history.

It was death.

And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

Once, he had gotten drunk outside the Hopper's cabin, right beneath El’s window. When Hopper heard him crying and begging and went out to him, Mike had collapsed to his knees at Hopper’s feet, clutching at him.

“If you’re hiding her, please-just tell me, Hop,” he had begged. “I swear I won’t try to see her. I just need to know she’s alive. That’s enough. Please.”

But this time, Hopper truly had nothing he could say. If only he had-if only he could have eased the pain of this young man. But he couldn’t...

About eight years earlier, during what would become the final D&D campaign of their childhood, Mike had explained his theory. He had said he believed El wasn’t dead. The theory itself was sound. There was logic to it. A strong possibility, even. But it could also have been Mike’s way of surviving his grief. Because from that day on, Mike never put himself in danger like that again.

The conversation had grown lively. Hopper and Ted were talking about sports and the latest developments in the economy, while Karen and Joyce were discussing a new TV series they had just started watching. Down in the basement, Holly and Derek were tossing around new ideas for future D&D campaigns. Nancy, Steve, Jonathan, and Robin were chatting about work. Lucas and Max were deep into an animated conversation with Dustin and Will about the renovations on their new house.

Then the doorbell rang. The conversations faltered.

Everyone was there-except one person.
And his mysterious companion.

Karen sprang to her feet and rushed toward the door. Nancy followed close behind, and Holly came running up from the basement. The moment Karen opened the door, tears filled their eyes all at once.

He had come.

The son of the house had come home.

Michael “Mike” Wheeler stood outside the door, holding two suitcases. His hair was a little shorter than the last time they’d seen him, now curled; there was a light scruff on his face. He was still tall. And he was smiling.

Karen pulled him into her arms immediately, holding him tight with years of longing pouring out of her. She was crying-crying with happiness.

Her son was here.

After eight years...

Caught off guard by the sudden attention, Mike dropped one of his suitcases and hugged his mother back. Even though Karen didn’t want to let go, after a moment she pulled away, cupped his cheeks with both hands, and looked at the beautiful face of her son-now a grown man of twenty-six.

Oh, how she had missed him.

When Mike’s eyes began to wander around the room, she finally let him go. He stepped inside, set the suitcases down, and greeted everyone with an easy—

“Hey, everyone!”

He saw it in their faces: surprise, smiles, longing.
He had missed them too. Yes, phone calls, emails, and letters were nice and of course they had seen each other here and there but never like this. Never properly. They knew he was a writer. That was all. Nothing more.

They didn’t know about the person traveling with him, for example.

Yes. She.. She was still in the car. Her favorite song was playing on the radio, and getting her to leave before it ended was impossible. She formed deep attachments to the things she loved. As that thought crossed his mind, something unplanned occurred to him. Should he warn them first? He didn’t want anyone to scare her with over-the-top reactions, but...

Karen interrupted his thoughts.

“You said ‘we’re on the road’ on the phone, Michael,” she said. “I assumed someone was coming with you?”

Mike answered quickly, a little too quickly.

“Yes! She..umm..yes. She’s in the car. Um. Right as we were getting out, her favorite song came on the radio, and she never leaves a song unfinished. She’ll come in when it ends. Actually, I should go check on her-I still have a few things to grab from the car.”

And with that, he headed back outside.

Inside the house, curiosity buzzed. Who was this mysterious girl? Were they serious, or just flirting? What kind of person was she?

Before anyone could voice their questions, there was a knock at the door again.

Karen rushed to open it. She saw Mike-now carrying two more suitcases-and stepped aside to let him pass, trying desperately to look past him, to catch a glimpse of the girl. But his tall frame and the bags in his hands blocked the doorway entirely.

When Mike stepped inside, he saw the expectation written all over their faces. He took a deep breath.

“Okay,” he began. “There’s someone I want you to meet. I know you’ll be upset that I didn’t tell you sooner. I know you’ll have things to say. But I didn’t want to do this with a simple letter-and it took me time to find the strength to come here.”

He paused.

“She’s been with me for three years. She means everything. All I ask is that you treat her normally. Please don’t overreact—she’s a little nervous, too.”

He took another breath.

“Okay. Then… everyone—this is Jane Wheeler”

The moment the name left Mike’s lips, the room froze.

Jane?

Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth. Steve and Jonathan exchanged identical looks of disbelief. Joyce turned to Hopper, stunned. Hopper’s jaw tightened as old emotions hit him all at once. The Party shared a quick, silent glance.

While all of this unfolded, Mike was already at the door, calling for her.

And then Jane stepped inside, hand in hand with Mike.

If that was possible, the shock in the room multiplied tenfold.

They had been expecting someone.
A girl Mike might have met at one of his book signings. Or someone he’d run into during his travels—a girl he’d had coffee with, grown close to over time.

But what they were seeing now was the shock of their lives.

Because no one—no one—had expected the person holding the hand of Mike Wheeler, who hadn’t set foot in Hawkins for eight years, to be a little girl.

Jane.

She was just a child.

Everyone stared at her in stunned silence. She was barely half Mike’s height, with brown hair and large, doe-like eyes—

Wait.
What?

This child looked almost exactly like El. Or maybe the shock of hearing the name Jane had made it impossible for them to process what they were really seeing.

As the silence grew unbearable, he cleared his throat, and the room’s attention snapped to him.

“Yeah, guys,” he said. “Say hello to Jane. She’s my daughter.”

Every pair of eyes widened as far as they possibly could. Jane, sensing the tension, tightened her grip on her father’s hand. Mike, eager to break the silence again, continued quickly.

“Okay—time for introductions. Jane, this is Grandma Karen.
Mom… this is Jane. Your granddaughter.”

As Karen struggled to process everything she’d just learned, she noticed the girl’s shy glances—and instinct took over. She knelt down and greeted Jane with an excited, gentle, “Hi there.”

Jane looked up at her father, her eyes clearly asking, "Dad?" Mike squeezed Jane’s hand in encouragement and said softly, “Go on.”

Jane let go of her father’s hand and wrapped her arms around Karen. After a brief moment of stunned surprise, Karen hugged her back—tight.

She didn’t understand any of this. When had her son gotten married? When had he had a child? Had it been an accident? And where was the girl’s mother? All of those questions would be asked—eventually. But not now. And certainly not to this little girl.

She was a grandmother now.

Her thoughts were racing. Mike had said "she’s been with me for three years"—but this child was clearly older than three. Four, maybe five. His absence could be explained. But not telling them he had a daughter?

Her thoughts were cut short as Mike began to speak, and Jane loosened her hug. He was introducing her to the rest of the family now.

“Yes—this is Grandpa Ted. Hi, Dad,” he added quickly. “I will answer your questions—” he glanced around the room, “—all of your questions. I’ll explain everything. But…” He nodded gently toward the little girl. “Later.”

Then he turned back to Jane.

“Okay, Jane. This is Aunt Nancy. And Aunt Holly. This is Aunt Max, and Aunt Robin. Nancy is my big sister, Holly is my little sister. Max is my best friend. Robin is a close friend.”

Jane hugged each of them in turn.

Ted stood frozen, his eyes moving back and forth between Jane and his son. There were things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask. He shifted restlessly—but when his eyes met Karen’s, he stopped. Because in her gaze, he saw a clear message:

Not now, Ted.

"She looks exactly like El" Nancy thought. Especially her eyes…

Max’s eyes filled with tears. She whispered a soft “hi” and hugged the little girl.

Jane looked up at her with wide, curious eyes after the hug and said, “Your hair is really, really pretty!”
With her eyes filling with tears, Max replied, “Thank you. You’re so beautiful too—oh my God, your dress is gorgeous.”
Jane smiled shyly and said, “It’s my favorite dress. My dad got it for me on my birthday.”

As Jane hugged Holly, Mike continued making introductions:

“Uncle Dustin, Uncle Lucas, Uncle Will, and Uncle Jonathan and Uncle Steve.
Dustin, Lucas, and Will are my childhood friends. They’re like brothers to me.
Steve and Jonathan are my friends as well. And this is Derek—Aunt Holly’s friend.”

Jane looked at each of them, greeted them, hugged everyone—but she hugged Dustin a little longer.
For no clear reason, she liked him more.

“I knew I’d be your favorite. And you’re definitely my favorite too,” Dustin said happily, making everyone laugh.

But while he was smiling, Dustin was also thinking—just like everyone else.
Who was this girl?
Had they really grown this far apart? They used to share everything—had they drifted so much that even when they had a child, they hadn’t told each other for three years?
And this girl was definitely older than three.

Had it been unplanned? Had Mike met his daughter later on?
And oh my God… this girl looked exactly like El.

So… Mike had been with someone who reminded him of El—and their daughter had taken after her.

Fate, huh.

Finally, Mike turned to Joyce and Hopper and introduced Jane to them.

“And sweetie… this is Joyce, the mother of Uncle Will and Uncle Jonathan, and her husband, Hopper.
Did you know? Hop is a police chief. He looks grumpy and strict, but he’s actually a softie—and he’s had my back since the day we met.”

Mike’s comment made both the Hoppers and the rest of the Party laugh
Hopper looked at the boy who, years ago, had driven him absolutely insane with his teenage arrogance. No point lying—he’d wanted to kill him once. Maybe twice. Or three times.

The kid had been a real pain in the ass. Hopper used to clean his guns right in front of him just to scare him.
And somehow, the kid always managed to do something that got on his nerves anyway.

But now…
He was a grown man. And he had a child.

And that child… she reminded Hopper of the second chance he’d been given in life—and lost again. El.
Even her name was the same.

Hopper tried to take a deep breath, quietly, to steady the ache rising in his chest. But Joyce noticed. She gently squeezed his hand for just a moment, then turned back and wrapped the little girl in a hug.

Hopper watched them embrace.

She was about Sara’s age—and the realization hit him harder than he expected

He drew in another slow, silent breath.
Some things never stop holding on, no matter how much time passes

He listened as Joyce spoke to her. The girl seemed far less tense than she’d been when she first arrived. When Joyce told her how beautiful she was, the girl’s eyes lit up. 

That was Joyce.

After years apart, they had built a family together. They’d had bad days, of course—and Hopper was definitely not an easy man to live with—but Joyce had always given him a shoulder to lean on in every hardship, arms that held him with love.

This woman truly was everything to him.

The sight of the little girl pulled Hopper out of his thoughts, and he watched her quietly for a moment. Almost everyone in the house could understand the intensity of what he was feeling.

El.
Sara.

And this girl carried pieces of them both.
El’s physical features, Sara’s age.
The innocence they had shared.

Hopper kept looking at her—and she at him. Their eyes met, and Hopper softly, almost in a whisper, said, “Hi.”

Jane took him in for a second… and then suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around him.

Hopper froze.
But only for a moment.

Then he held her just as tightly. And she held him back.

Until then, everyone had thought the most heartfelt hug had been the one with Dustin—but they were wrong.
The hug between Hopper and Jane was different. It was something else entirely.

Anyone who could understand what Hopper was feeling had tears in their eyes.

Nancy could no longer hold them back and cried quietly.
Max rested her head on Lucas’s shoulder, watching the two of them with tears in her eyes.
Will clutched the pillow in his arms, silently watching the embrace through his tears.
And Dustin and Steve turned away, hoping the tears would retreat if they didn’t look.

Joyce, more than anyone, felt what Hopper was feeling—deeply.

This man, this big, solid man… had lost a daughter to cancer. A daughter who had been about Jane’s age. And he had carried that pain for years.
Then life, as he liked to put it, had given him a second chance. Another little girl—one who would have been the same age as Sara if she had lived. He had given that girl a home, raised her, protected her—and she had sacrificed herself at just sixteen.

Hopper had been shattered.

He had thought himself cursed. And because of that, he had tried to keep his distance from Joyce for a while—afraid that the curse might take her too.

They had pulled themselves together. They had endured. They had healed.
Or maybe they had just placed a bandage over the wound—whatever it was. What mattered was that they had built a life together.

And now, his beloved wife felt as if he were holding both of his chances—one gained and one lost—at the same time in his arms.

The girl’s gaze made it feel like she could see straight through him.
It felt as if a bond had formed between them—something far too deep to belong to a first meeting.

The moment they embraced, Mike’s eyes filled with tears.

The way Hopper looked at her. The way he held her. And the way Jane clung to him just as tightly…

Mike understood Hopper. Every time he looked at Jane, he saw her too.
What he couldn’t quite understand was how Jane had felt such immediate closeness to Hopper.

Of course, Hopper’s name had come up. Mike had talked about him. And maybe Jane had pieced things together in her mind.

Jane was very smart -exceptionally smart. Even the psychologist had remarked on it. She was receiving an education well above her age level. Her emotional intelligence was just as remarkable; her ability to empathize was extraordinary. She was always sincere- her anger, her sadness, her happiness were all written clearly in her eyes.

Just like her.

Mike sank into the couch. The tears were now slipping freely down his face. By then, Hopper and Jane had ended their hug. Mike watched as Hopper wiped the tears from his eyes.

It felt different.
It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

He watched as the little girl let go, gave a small smile, then walked back to her father, climbed into his lap, and hugged him tightly.

Mike looked peaceful.
That kid had somehow found his way.

A smile appeared on his face, and he noticed Joyce looking at him. He asked, silently, with his eyes, if he was okay. And she answered the same way.

He was. He really was.

Dinner passed with laughter, teasing, and intense conversation. No one had asked who Jane was yet—because it wasn’t time. They all knew the subject would come up, but clearly it would be discussed when she wasn’t around. Mike would talk when she wasn’t there.

Everyone shared bits and pieces of their lives, but the conversation kept circling back to Mike. He hadn’t been to Hawkins in years. He was the one who had lived like a closed box all this time.

They asked how his writing was going. They listened to funny stories about Jane, to memories from the trips they had taken together. They learned that Jane had a high IQ and was receiving special education. And in everything Mike talked about, there were only two recurring subjects: Jane and writing.

No other woman was mentioned.

After dinner, Derek excused himself and headed home. The rest of them stayed in the living room, talking about one thing or another. Jane was building a town with her LEGO set.

Then Holly mentioned that something about her new campaign had been bothering her—she couldn’t quite piece the dungeon scenario together in her head. Mike offered a few suggestions but said he’d really need to see the full scenario and the dungeon map.

Yes, he was a grown man.
And yes, he was absolutely in the middle of a conversation.
But the campaign had already taken over his entire mind.

He was that kind of grown man.
What was wrong with that?

He apologized and asked for a moment.

“Sweetie, you stay here. I’ll be right back,” he said to Jane. She nodded and went back to what she was doing as Mike headed toward the basement.

When he reached the basement door, he stopped at the top of the stairs for a moment.

The memories hit him all at once.

Of course they had never left his mind—but being there, standing in that spot, stirred something strange inside him. That was why he had left Hawkins in the first place. All of it had become too heavy to carry.

This basement had held so much.

It had witnessed endless D&D campaigns, Star Wars marathons, disgusting competitions like who could fart the longest.
It had witnessed him hiding the love of his life.

It had witnessed him calling for her on the radio every night when she disappeared for the first time.
Their secret meetings.
His withdrawal after she moved to California.
His crying when he missed her.
The letters he wrote to her.
The dreams he built around her.

And everything that came after she was gone.

The breakdowns.
The rage that had him destroying everything around him.
The drugs.
The alcohol-induced coma.
The suicide attempts—two of them terrifyingly close to succeeding.”
His desperate pleas into the radio.
His screams...

It had witnessed everything.

He trembled.

It all still felt unbearably fresh. He took three deep breaths—in and out. Holly had already started talking about the campaign again.

Mike shook it off. Now, as a professional storyteller, he would focus on creating a great campaign. He would keep his mind busy with that.

He needed to.

When Mike left, Jane kept working with serious focus. The conversation continued. As Karen talked, she kept an eye on Jane at the same time.

Her granddaughter…

She was a sweet, quiet-looking girl—and she was perfect. Because she was her granddaughter.

Karen had always imagined this. Being a grandmother.
The kind who baked cookies for her grandchildren, bought them gifts, and always took their side—even against her own kids.

Yes. She should bake cookies. First thing tomorrow. And buy lots of presents too. For her granddaughter. With a smile, she returned to the conversation.

Suddenly, Jane focused. She was thinking about something. If someone had noticed her in that moment, they would have thought she looked exactly like Mike.

She lifted her head and looked at Hopper.

Hopper felt her gaze and turned toward her, smiling.
Jane smiled back.

And slowly, she asked:

“Are you my grandpa too?”

Chapter Text

It was as if her words had echoed through the room—silence fell instantly. Now everyone was staring at Jane and Hopper in stunned disbelief. The little girl had only just met Hopper, and yet something deeper had formed between them. Something different. But that question… that was different. Hopper swallowed, searching for something—anything—reasonable to say.

“Well,” he said carefully, “your grandpa is Ted, Jane. But you can call me Hop.”

Jane didn’t break eye contact. “You’re El’s dad?” she asked.

Hopper nearly choked—not because of how she knew (Mike could have told her, of course), but because of the way she asked it. She was looking at him as if she could see straight through him. Straight into the deepest part of his soul. “Y-yeah,” Hopper answered. Then, almost without realizing it, he added, “Did you… did you know her?”

“Yes,” Jane said simply. “Her last name is Hopper. Yours is too. She’s your daughter, right? I know her.” She tilted her head slightly. “There’s a picture of her next to my dad’s bed. She’s very beautiful.”

Hopper couldn’t breathe.

“Did you know?” Jane went on. “My dad wanted to marry her. He loved her a lot. But El had to go.”

Hopper felt his chest tighten.

“Before I fall asleep, he tells me stories about her adventures. Stories about how brave she was, and all the big heroic things she did. My dad tells stories really well. He tells me one every night.” She smiled faintly. “My dad writes about her in his books. And he helps hungry people for her. And he has trees planted in her name. He says he does it to honor her."

Hopper’s hands were trembling now.

“There’s her name inside my dad’s ring,” Jane continued, completely unaware of the devastation she was causing. “But he’s not wearing it right now. He left it in the car when we came here. He said he didn’t need to wear it here.”

She paused, then added innocently, “He never takes it off where we live. My dad said if he wears the ring, other women don’t talk to him. He says it protects him from weird women.”

Her voice softened, almost fading as she added, “I wish she was here.”

“I wish she was my mom.”

It took them a moment to process what Jane had said. They knew, of course, that Mike wrote about El—he had even dedicated his book to her. But the rest of it?
El’s photograph. Mike’s ring—one they had never seen him wear. The charity work he did in her honor. Jane knowing her.Jane looking so much like her. Even their names being the same.

While all of this was sinking in, Jane set her LEGO pieces aside and began walking toward Hopper. She stopped in front of him, opened her arms, silently asking to be picked up. Hopper responded without hesitation. He lifted her into his arms. Jane rested her head against his chest and stayed there quietly. She let out a small sigh, then, almost in a whisper, said,

“Grandpa.”

Hopper froze.
So did Joyce.
The girl chose him.
Hopper wrapped his arms around her, holding her close against his chest. Not long after, Jane let out a small yawn and fell asleep in his arms.

“So for all the reasons I just listed,” Mike said after studying the scenario and the map, “I’d suggest a ghoul instead of a zombie.”

Holly had made real progress as a dungeon master. At first, she had used Mike’s old D&D stories—but over time, she’d begun making small changes of her own, taking confident steps toward developing her skills as a dungeon master. Now she was writing her own campaigns from scratch, but getting input from her brother—a professional storyteller—was still invaluable.

Holly considered what Mike had said, then nodded.

“Yes. That’ll definitely be more exciting. Thank you, Mike. You’re amazing.”

She hugged him tightly.

It wasn’t just a “thank you for helping my campaign” hug.

It meant more than that.

Thank you for coming back.

She had missed him terribly. There had been many moments when she’d been angry at him for staying away—but in the end, she understood why. Still, having him here meant the world to her.

Mike had missed this too. Of course he had.

But he hadn’t been able to stay.

Every inch of this town carried pain for him. He had run away into its forests, gotten drunk and passed out in its streets. His feet always led him back to the cabin. Sometimes he would just stand there, staring at the porch where El used to wait for him. Memories would rise up—of the times they’d sat there together, holding each other. Close to the time they were supposed to meet, El would step out onto the porch, her doe-like eyes watching the road for him. The moment Mike saw her standing there, all his exhaustion would disappear. It felt like coming home.

And every time, as he walked the distance to the cabin, he imagined the same thing:

They were married. Mike was coming home from work. El’s day had ended earlier—she didn’t want him to be tired. It wasn’t after everything was done; it was already waiting for him. She opened the door and smiled. She hugged him. Kissed him. He kissed her back—and just like that, the weight of the day vanished.

Back then, imagining that life felt beautiful.
But after everything that had happened, the thought drove a sharp pain straight into his chest.

He tried to forget.

Not El—never El.
The pain.

He wanted to dream of her, to picture her smile. But the final moments came crashing down on him like a nightmare, every single time.

First came smoking.
Then the stronger ones—higher nicotine, harsher burn followed.

Then he tried to end it.

Nancy found him lying in a pool of blood.

For a while, he was stable.
Then alcohol entered the picture. At first, it seemed to help—but his body adapted quickly. It stopped working.

And once again, he stood at the edge.

This time, Holly found him.

He would never have wanted to put his sister through something like that. So, in order not to die, he turned to harsher ways of surviving.

He remembered Argyle’s constant haze, always drifting.
He bought weed. Started using it.

For a while, it helped.

Then it didn’t.

And once again, he found himself staring straight at the edge of suicide. His family all but begged him to see a therapist. What finally made him agree was Holly’s plea. The little girl had been terrified—truly terrified—after finding her brother nearly lifeless. On his therapist’s advice, he began to write. At first, it was small letters—everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. Boxes filled with unsent letters. Then came short stories. Stories about her. Stories for her. Writing kept his mind occupied. But sometimes the nightmares returned, heavy and suffocating, stopping him from writing—from even imagining her.

He kept using weed in secret.

Karen and Nancy, of course, noticed the smell eventually. No amount of ventilation helped. But in the end, they noticed it was only small amounts and chose to look the other way—because compared to before, he was doing better.

After a long hug, they finally pulled apart. There were faint tears in both of their eyes. They didn’t say anything. They didn’t need to. They looked at each other and saw everything. It was enough. Holly was the first to break the silence.

“We can go upstairs,” she said with a smile. “I’ll allow it.” Mike smiled back, nodded, and checked his watch. It was almost 11 p.m.

“Oh wow, it’s late. Jane needs to sleep. When she misses her bedtime, she turns into a grumpy, irritable little Derro*,” he said. “You definitely don’t want to see that version of her.”

Holly nodded, then stopped halfway up the stairs and turned back to him. “I mean… seriously, Mike. Jane—”

Mike cut her off gently. “I’ll explain. After she falls asleep. I promise.”

Holly nodded again, and they continued toward the living room where the others were. When they stepped into the living room, the low murmur of conversation came to a halt.

Mike had seen a lot in his life. He had fought monsters from other dimensions. Seen people get possessed. Been inside another dimension. Closed a wormhole with a bomb—

Okay—no. Let’s skip the bomb part.

He was certain there were still things in this world he hadn’t seen yet. But one thing he knew for sure:

If an alien suddenly appeared in the living room right now, it wouldn’t shock him more than what he was seeing.

Jane was asleep.

But not on the floor. Not on the couch. Not in Karen’s arms, nor in Nancy’s. She was asleep in Hopper’s arms. Hopper was holding her close. Jane’s head was resting against his chest, her small left hand curled into the fabric of his shirt. She slept peacefully.

Mike looked at them. Hopper looked back at him.

They were silent.

They didn’t need words—everything was already there, written plainly in their eyes. Mike fought the tears rising in his throat and said softly, with a faint smile,
“I actually came to put her to bed.” He turned to his mother, lowering his voice even more.
“Um..Mom…?” Karen understood immediately. In a calm, gentle tone, she said, “Sweetheart, take her to your room. I’ve prepared everything.”

Mike nodded and turned back to Hopper. “Thank you, Hop. Uh… if you don’t mind,” he said in a whisper that barely carried.

Hopper nodded.

Mike carefully lifted Jane into his arms. She was in a deep sleep. He rested her head against his shoulder, supporting her hip with one arm while the other steadied her back. Then he glanced around at everyone and said quietly,
“I’ll be back in a bit.”

They all nodded. And with silent steps, Mike began to climb the stairs.

Chapter Text

When he stepped into the living room, all eyes turned to him. Smiling, he sank into the armchair and said, “She’s asleep.” With a soft laugh, he added, “Which is good. Trust me—you really don’t want to see her when she’s overtired / running on no sleep. She turns into some kind of an unholy mix of Yoda on Dagobah and Emperor Palpatine.”

That got the Party laughing.

After that, no one spoke for a moment. The silence in the room stretched, growing heavier by the second, edging toward discomfort. Everyone was waiting for Mike to say something. What they were most curious about, of course, was Jane—but given what Mike had been like in recent years, his moods, his fragility, they hesitated to ask.

Still, after holding himself back for hours, Ted finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Michael,” he said. “I think there are some things you owe us an explanation for, don’t you? I mean—yes, it’s your life, your choices. But finding out we have a granddaughter… I think that’s something your mother and I have, at the very least.”

Mike looked at his father. Then his mother. Then, one by one, everyone else. He rubbed his hands together, eyes dropping to them. He took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he said. “I should have told you. But writing it in a letter, or saying it over the phone—you know, it didn’t feel right. What was I supposed to say? ‘Mom, Dad, hey guys! Thanks so much for the interest in my book and for checking in on me—and oh, by the way, you have a grandchild / niece now, just thought you should know’?”

He let out a breath that was almost a chuckle. “It’s not that simple. This was… something that deserved to be said in person. But you know—” he made a vague, helpless gesture with his right hand, “—getting here was hard. Even today, I almost didn’t make it. I got a flat tire, and for a second I actually took it as the universe telling me not to show up."

He looked around the room. “If I hurt you, I’m truly sorry. I should have told you. I know that. I just… couldn’t.”

He searched their faces, as if asking for understanding. And in every pair of eyes, he found it. They were still waiting for him to go on—and so he did.

“There isn’t much to tell,” he said quietly. “You already know what happened. I was in a bad place. I thought if I gave it time, things might slowly get better—but they only got worse. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t repeat the self-destructive stuff from the beginning. Still… I sank pretty low. So low that sometimes even writing felt impossible.”

He paused.

“Then I started thinking. She didn’t do all that so I could go on living a miserable life. I owed her more than that. I had to honor her somehow. The world didn’t know her—couldn’t know her—but what she did for us could never be for nothing. I had to pull myself together. I wanted her to look down at me and feel proud. And I promised her that I would make that happen.”

He skipped the part about believing she wasn’t really gone. He knew the looks he’d get—the same strange, careful ones. The Party aside; they were the only ones who found the theory sound -at least on paper.

“So I started by taking a good, honest look at myself. At everything that needed fixing. I began with small changes. And after that… a lot of things followed naturally."

He took another breath.

“As for Jane… I saw an article in one of the newspapers. It was about the rise in adoptions. I asked myself if I could do it. And the answer was yes—I could. I went in and applied. There were months of evaluations, training sessions, interviews. And then they showed me Jane.”

His voice softened.

“I felt an immediate warmth toward her—something deep and unmistakable. We met first at the institution. Later, the officials came to my home for supervised visits. After that, they started leaving her with me for short periods, seeing how things went. Then she came to live with me full time, with occasional check-ins. And finally… there was the court hearing. And now—here we are.”

He looked around the room again.

“I’m the father of a six-year-old princess who turned my miserable life back into a little paradise."

Silence followed.

His mother’s eyes were wet. Joyce’s too. The girls were openly crying now. Ted just nodded slowly, weighing it all.

Through her tears, Nancy finally asked—

“And her name-"
Nancy hesitated. “Is it her real name, or…?”

There was no need for her to finish the sentence.

Mike took a deep breath. “No. It’s a name I chose for her,” he said. “ It’s gentle. Unburdened by all of this. A little girl’s name that doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world. I wanted it to remind me of her -but I didn’t want her to have to bear it fully for the rest of her life. And besides—” he paused, searching for the words, “—I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but they already look so much alike. I didn’t want to put any more on her shoulders."

Nancy nodded in understanding.
Of course they’d seen the resemblance. All of them had. Unmistakably so.

Mike turned to Hopper.

“You know, Hop,” he said, his playful side surfacing, “I thought about you a lot. Really thought about you. I think I finally understand you.”

With a grin, he added, “Sometimes I asked myself, ‘What would Hopper do in this situation?’ And then I did the exact opposite.”

They laughed. Hopper closed his eyes, shaking his head as he laughed along.

“But jokes aside,” Mike went on, “you were a model for me, Hop. I might not have liked you very much back then, you know—you were always yelling at me and threatening to kill me. But now I get it. That’s what being a father is.”

He glanced down briefly, then back up.

“It’s wanting to protect her. It’s doing things that sometimes annoy her, upset her—even make her angry. But at some point you realize: I’d rather have her safe and mad at me than unsafe and smiling. As long as she’s okay.”

He met Hopper’s eyes.

“I understand you now. And… thank you. You’re an incredible father.”

Hopper’s eyes filled with tears, though he did his best to keep his composure. To lighten the mood, he waved a hand dismissively and said, “Yeah, kid. Took you long enough—but I’m glad you finally get it. Maybe putting you in charge of babysitting would’ve worked better than cleaning guns in front of you.”

The laughter rolled on.

With coffee and dessert being served, the conversation warmed up, drifting into stories from everyone’s own lives. Every now and then, Mike slipped upstairs to check on Jane. Even if she was safe, it was still her first night in a strange house—fear would have been natural.

As the hours passed, guests slowly began to leave. Since Lucas’s family lived nearby, Lucas, Dustin, and Max headed over to their house. Jonathan and Will settled into the basement. Karen had prepared the guest room for Hopper and his family. Steve and Robin left for Steve’s parents’ house.

When the house finally began to empty, Mike stepped outside.

He looked around carefully.

Hawkins had changed.

What his eyes took in felt both familiar and foreign at once. He drew in a deep breath, focusing on the cold Hawkins air filling his lungs, then exhaled, watching the mist form in front of his mouth. The fact that he’d made it back here at all felt like a miracle.

He had thought that if he returned, the nightmares would begin again.

But no—not El. Never El.

El was already with him. She always had been. She was the woman he would carry in his memory, in his heart, for the rest of his life. He felt like a man widowed at sixteen. And strangely enough, that didn’t disturb him. He had only one heart, and the part of it meant for love belonged entirely to El.

Whenever he drank too much—whenever his mind went numb enough for him to get close to a woman at a bar, for things to start moving in that direction—his heart would make itself known. It would start racing. But it was never the kind of racing that came from desire. There was weight, instead. Heavy and unmistakable. You’re doing something wrong, Michael. Stop.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he realized someone else was standing beside him. He turned to his right and saw Hopper.

“Hey,” Mike greeted him.

“Hey,” Hopper replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one. Mike shook his head.

“I don’t anymore,” he said. “Jane gets mad.”

Hopper let out a quiet chuckle, slid a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. He took a deep drag, watching the smoke curl into the night air. Without looking at Mike, he asked, “How are you?”

“Okay,” Mike said.

Hopper paused. Then, more deliberately, “That’s not what I'm asking. How are you—really, Mike?”

Mike thought.

Spiritually, he had Jane. He had the most perfect child in the world. Jane was his daughter—his companion, his best friend. They had traveled to beautiful places together. Even in just three short years, they had built an incredible number of memories. Jane was biologically six, but her mind was closer to eight, which softened the gap between them, made it easier to meet somewhere in the middle.

Financially, things were good. Both of his books kept getting reprinted. Fans were eagerly awaiting the next one. On the street, people greeted him—men, women, children alike—offering praise, smiles, recognition. The publishing house was flooded with fan letters.

And yet—

There was an emptiness inside him he couldn’t explain.

The kind of emptiness that slowly consumed you.

The kind that left you feeling helpless.

Lost.

Hopper watched him think.

He couldn’t read Mike’s thoughts, of course—but it was clear that something was being weighed inside him. A reckoning. Hopper waited without a word. He took another drag from his cigarette, staring out into the distance, leaving the man beside him alone with his thoughts.

“I don’t know,” Mike finally said, his voice thin. “I don’t know, Hop. I mean—on the surface, everything’s fine. The Mike from three years ago was basically dead. But this Mike? This Mike is alive. He became a dad. He loves his daughter. He laughs, travels, tries new foods. He takes his princess to Disneyland, to other countries.”

He swallowed.

“He came back to his hometown after years away. Spent time with his family. With his friends. So yeah. It’s good. Work is good too. He owns his own house in a quiet, nice neighborhood. On paper—” his mouth twitched, almost bitter, “On paper, this version of Mike looks happy

“But…?” Hopper asked gently.

“But…” Mike continued, “…something’s missing. And it’s not the kind of thing that can be filled.”

He felt his eyes begin to burn and didn’t bother stopping it.

“It didn’t fill. It won’t fill. I know that.”

He looked at Hopper.

“I miss her, Hop. I miss her so much. The longing doesn’t fade. I begged for years—‘either come back, or take me with you.’ She didn’t come back. And she didn’t take me with her. I stayed.”

His voice steadied, even as his eyes didn’t.

“Yes, my life moves forward. Yes, the seasons change. Yes, it looks like I’m moving on. But there’s a part of me that’s still in November 1987. I’m twenty-six years old—but that part of me is still sixteen.”

He exhaled shakily.

“That part is still standing in front of that library. Still waiting. Still going to the cabin, expecting to see her.”

By now, tears were running freely down both men’s faces.

“That part of me doesn’t move forward. And I tell myself I am—lie to myself, really. It looks like I have so much. But I only have two truths.”

He held Hopper’s gaze.

“The first is this: Jane is my daughter.
And the second is this: I’m still madly in love with El.

And I always will be.

That’s it.”

Mike felt that familiar weight settle in his chest again. His heart had already picked up speed—there was no stopping it now.

“I regret it so much,” he said, breathless. “I have so many what ifs. I should’ve done better, Hop. She should have been completely certain that I loved her. She should have known it without the slightest doubt. And I failed at that. I made her doubt.”

His voice wavered, but he kept going.

“My parents’ dead marriage. My own insecurities. El being extraordinary—and me being just a scrawny nerd, always convinced she deserved better than me. All of it made me feel small. Unsafe. And I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell her how much I loved her—not fully, not out loud, not the way I should have.”

He swallowed hard.

“I that so much. If she were here now, I’d spend the entire night telling her how much I love her, how incredible she is. I had chances once—to say it to her face, to write it in my letters. I had those chances, and I didn’t take them. And life punished me for it.”

His breathing was uneven now.

“Now I can only write it in my books. And it never reaches her. That’s my punishment. And I’m sentenced to carry it for the rest of my life.”

Mike was gasping for air—but there was no stopping now.

“I promised her I’d pull myself together. That I’d become a man she could look down on and feel proud of. And I tried, Hop. I really did. But half of that man is dead.”

He let out a broken breath.

“The only thing keeping the other half standing… is a little girl. The second girl who saved my life.”

He looked at Hopper through tears.

“A little girl who looks so much like her. A little girl I named after the love of my life.”

His voice softened, but the words hit harder.

“Do you know what they told me the first time I saw her? ‘She’s different. She’s sensitive. She’s being bullied.’ And the moment I laid eyes on her, I made myself a promise. She was getting out of there. Away from those kids. Away from people who didn’t understand her.”

His hands trembled slightly.

“She would have a home. A room of her own. I saw El in her. I saw the institution as the lab. I saw those kids—and those people—as the scientists. And I thought of you.”

He gave a small, broken smile.

“I thought, I can do what Hopper did. I’ll protect her. I’ll teach her. I’ll make sure she eats off porcelain plates instead of metal trays. That she has toys—real toys. Things that belong to her. Everything I did for Jane, I did with El in mind. Because everything I call my life is built on her. The countries I’ve traveled to. The house I bought. The success, the fame—I owe all of it to El.”

His voice dropped.

“When I was at the very bottom of that well inside me, she was the one who threw down the rope. I owe my breath to her. I owe finding Jane to her.”

Tears streamed freely now.

“If I hadn’t stared at El’s photograph and reckoned with myself… if I hadn’t promised her I’d give us a better life—Jane wouldn’t be in my life. I wouldn’t have read that damn newspaper. The thought would never have crossed my mind.”

He looked at Hopper, utterly undone.

“I owe my entire existence to El, Hop. If she were here, she would love Jane so much. Maybe we would’ve had a daughter of our own. We’d come to all these dinners together. We’d go on all those trips together.”

He drew in a deep, shaking breath.

The tears kept falling, unstoppable.

“I envy families,” Mike said. “Mothers, fathers, children. I envy them so much. The way spouses take care of their kids together. The way a child gets excited and yells, ‘Mom! Dad!’ The way couples hold hands.”

His voice cracked.

“I envy it, Hop. We could have had that too. We should have had that. Why didn’t we? Everyone else managed it. Everyone else made it work—was it really just us who were too much for this fucking life?”

He shook his head, breath uneven.

“Was she the one who was too much? What did this girl even want, huh? What did she want from life? To be a queen? To be richer than King Midas? To rule the world? What was it that made the world look at her and say, no, you’re too much? I don’t understand it. I can’t understand it.”

Tears spilled freely now.

“All she ever wanted was a normal life. She wanted to see the people she loved whenever she wanted. She wanted to go to the movies. She wanted to think about the next film coming out, the new episode of a show, parties, clothes—just like other girls her age. What was so wrong with that?”

He let out a shaky breath.

“She wasn’t happy here. She wasn’t happy in California either. Do you know what she told me when we were there? She said she didn’t belong anywhere. In a country with millions of people— was she the odd one out? Is that justice, Hop? Is that justice?”

His voice rose, desperate.

“My mind won’t shut up. I can’t stop asking why. Why, why, why? And I’m stuck thinking about it”

He wiped at his face, barely breathing.

“At night, I fall asleep staring at a photograph of the woman I love—taken when she was fourteen. I memorize her letters down to the punctuation marks and cry over them. And to pay the debt I owe her, I have to keep honoring her. I have to keep writing her. I have to keep lifting her up.”

He looked at Hopper through tears.

“I have to fight for a future where my daughter doesn’t have to sacrifice herself.”

His voice softened, almost breaking.

“Jane loves El so much. She loves everything connected to her. Didn’t you see the way she acted toward you tonight? She knows El’s last name and she realized you’re her father—and she hugged you.”

A weak, disbelieving laugh escaped him.

“That feeling… it’s something else. There aren’t words for it. Just imagine—how much they would have loved each other.”

He swallowed hard.

“Sometimes I picture them in the same room, just talking. Schizophrenic Mike Wheeler. Fantastic.”

He looked utterly exhausted now.

“So tell me, Hop,” he said, struggling to breathe through his tears.
“Am I really okay?”

Hopper was falling apart too. For a moment, he didn’t know what to say—he felt as if he’d lost his voice entirely.

“You’re right,” he said at last, clearing his throat. “You’re right in all of it, Mike. Every bit of that anger. And believe me—I live that same rebellion every single night. I ask myself the same questions you do. Every word you said… you’re not wrong.”

He paused, swallowing hard.

“I was no different from you when El came into my life. At first, it was just protection. A job. But she was so innocent—just like the way you see Jane now. El saved my life. She pulled me out of a miserable existence. She gave me a reason to live. A second chance.”

His voice faltered.

“And I didn’t make the most of that chance, Mike.”

He took a breath and went on.

“But Jane is with you. Hold on to that chance with everything you’ve got. Take care of her. That girl is fragile. She has no one else but you. Keep teaching her. Keep protecting her. Hold her tight.”

He looked at Mike, eyes glassy.

“She’ll heal you. I promise you—she will. And keep being a man El would be proud of. You’re doing that. You’re doing it very well.”

He hesitated.

“While you were gone… Jane told me. About the ring…”

Mike’s gaze dropped to the ground. His hand moved instinctively, closing around the ring finger of his left hand. Hopper watched him quietly. He lit another cigarette, trying—and failing—to keep his composure. The tears had already gathered again, threatening to spill.

“It’s okay, kid,” Hopper said softly. “It’s okay to devote your life to one person. It’s okay to feel like you couldn’t move on. It’s okay to rage against the idea that everyone else fit into this world—so was she really the one who was too much?”

He took a breath.

“It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to envy families. And if it brings you any peace at all… I would’ve wanted you as my son-in-law too.”

A faint, crooked smile touched his face.

“Yeah, I thought about killing you more than once—but that doesn’t make you a bad man. You were a good kid. You always thought of her before yourself. You did everything to protect her. You valued her. And she knew that. She knew you loved her. And she valued you just as deeply.”

His voice steadied, warmer now.

“And now… you’re a good man. You still value her. You do good in her name. You write to honor her. You built a fictional world where she’s praised—and people love her.”

He nodded slowly.

“I know, Mike. Of course I know. I follow it. Seeing my daughter’s efforts—fictional as they may be—being appreciated makes me proud.”

He looked straight at him.

“I’m proud of you, kid. I was proud of your childhood. I was proud watching you grow into a young man. And I’m proud of the man you are now.”

He swallowed.

“You can take that as a friend’s opinion, or an old man’s, or as the father of the girl you loved. Whatever title you choose to give me—under every single one of them, I’m proud of you.”

A quiet certainty settled into his voice.

“And I believe El is proud of you too. And she always will be. When Jane moves up a grade. When each of your books is published. Even if you take off the ring one day and let someone new in…”

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

“We’ll always be proud of the man you’ve become. Because that’s the kind of man you are, 'son'.”

Mike stared at Hopper, stunned. No one had ever called him son with that kind of sincerity before.

He saw the old man trying—and failing—to hold back his tears. His own tears were still pouring freely. And then, without thinking, Mike stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Hopper.

Hopper held him just as tightly.

Mike cried, shaking.

They both cried—for the shared longing they’d carried in their hearts.

They cried for lost time.
For futures that had once seemed beautiful, now left unfinished.

They cried for Jane "El" Hopper—who, at sixteen, sacrificed herself for a world that had given her nothing, a world that had treated her as excess.

“So that means the book is almost finished,” Karen said, taking a sip of her coffee.

“In a way—yes,” Mike replied. “It’s largely done. But there’s something missing. I can’t settle on the ending. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“You might be feeling overwhelmed,” Joyce said gently, trying to encourage him. “Maybe you should try to calm down a little. You’ll find it eventually.”
Karen nodded in wholehearted agreement.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Mike said. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about this ending for years, actually. Even while I was writing the first book, I kept wondering how it would end. That one was published, then the second one came out too—and now the final book is almost done, and there’s still no ending.”

“Why do you think that is?” Hopper asked, approaching it from a different angle.

Mike drifted into thought. The others let him be, giving him the space to gather his words.

Night had fully settled over the Wheeler house. Ted—credit where it was due—had held out as long as he could before finally turning in. Jane was still asleep. Karen, Nancy, Mike, and the Hopper family, however, were clearly not ready to call it a night; they kept talking, lingering in the quiet comfort of one another’s company.

At one point, Karen felt the weight of exhaustion settle in. Sleep would definitely do her good. But to steal just a few more moments with the son she hadn’t seen in three years, she did everything she could to stay awake. One of those things was the plain, unsweetened coffee she was drinking now.

It would probably give her heart palpitations—but no racing heart could ever compare to the ache she felt from missing her son.

She looked at him.

He was still trying to gather his thoughts.

She studied her son.

His hair—short now, but still curly. The stubble along his jaw. The tiredness in his eyes that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. The way his brows drew together whenever he was lost in thought.

He had lived through too much. Far more than anyone should—especially someone so young.

He had hit rock bottom. Truly. 

After El’s death, he had fallen straight into the arms of every bad habit the world had to offer. At night, she would wake just to listen to his breathing. She made sure he ate, even if only a little. She set alarms so he would take his medication down to the minute.

There was nothing she could do to ease his heart. All she could do was keep him alive—and pray to God that her son might one day heal, both in body and in spirit.

She ignored her own wounds.

She took her painkillers. She rubbed in her creams. Went to check on Holly—who, every single time, told her she was fine and that she should focus on Mike instead.

She prepared a light breakfast for him -No Eggos. Never Eggos. Nothing that might remind him of her. Two slices of whole wheat bread pressed into a simple grilled cheese toast. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. And a small portion of fries.

At first, the fries had been purely experimental. But when she noticed that Mike hadn’t touched the toast and had eaten at least one fry, she made sure to add them to his plate every single day.

Once, she would never have allowed him to eat so little. She would have argued if she had to—she needed to see his plate empty.

Now, she was grateful for a single fry.

Once, she would never have allowed him smoke or even in a room where people smoked.

Now, she accepted his use of weed, if it meant he wouldn’t hurt himself.

Once, she couldn’t bear the thought of him living so far away from home.

Now, she accepted eight years without him setting foot in his hometown, if that distance was what kept him breathing, what made him feel even a little better.

Karen had learned—slowly, painfully—never to say never.

“I keep thinking,” a voice said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I keep searching for a way, but my mind refuses every single one.”

Mike had finished thinking. Now, he was answering Hopper’s question.

“…it won’t accept a happy ending,” Mike said quietly. “And a bad ending… I can’t write that. I can’t do that to her. I can’t be that cruel. In a universe where everything is possible, I refuse to commit that kind of cruelty against her.”

He took a breath.

“It’s either a happy ending—or an open one. But an open ending would make readers furious, and the truth is, I love my mother. I don’t want people swearing at her.” A faint, almost apologetic smile crossed his face. “And my publisher wouldn’t go for it either. We talked about it once. I promised there wouldn’t be anything left unresolved.”

He hesitated.

“So… you know. All of this is meant to honor her. And for a while now—” his voice dropped slightly, rough around the edges, “—I’ve been traveling to places with three waterfalls.”

Everyone was looking at him now.

They all knew about the three waterfalls. Mike and El had once dreamed of settling somewhere like that, once everything was over. In those days—days that felt like hell—they had clung to that dream like a shelter. That was why Mike traveling to places with three waterfalls in search of an ending made perfect sense.

“So?” Nancy asked gently.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I’ve visited three so far,” Mike said. “Arkansas. Japan—though when I went, there hadn’t been much rain, so only two streams were flowing, but still. Then I went to Turkey. Norway too. They told me 'if you’re lucky, you can see the third stream there'—but like Japan, I didn’t catch it.”

He shrugged slightly.

“They were all beautiful places. But something didn’t fit. It didn’t settle. It didn’t feel finished. But I’m not done yet. I’m planning a trip to Iceland now. Apparently the biggest, the most distinct of these three waterfalls is there. Kirk… juf—ellfoss? I think. That’s roughly how you say it. Anyway.”

He let out a quiet breath.

“Honestly, if I can’t find it there either, I don’t know what I’ll do. And, um…” He hesitated. “While we’re on the subject… Mom, would you be willing to watch Jane while I’m gone? When we went to Norway, she got terribly sick—nearly pneumonia. I just… I don’t want her staying with a stranger if—”

“Of course,” Karen cut in immediately. “Of course I will. I will watch her. She’s my granddaughter, Michael. There is nothing I’d rather do than spend time with her. You go wherever you need to go.”

She was going to spend time with her granddaughter. Bake her cookies. Buy her little gifts.

For the first time in a long while, life felt good. Normal.

Nancy leaned closer to Mike and whispered—loud enough for their mother to hear, “See? Took about two seconds for you to get knocked right off the throne.”

“Nancy!” Karen protested at once. “No. I—I just— I mean—she’s my granddaughter!”

Mike only smiled. His mother’s enthusiasm made him smile. 

He looked around at everyone—they all looked exhausted, but happy and peaceful.

“Well,” he said lightly, “shall we call it a night? Wow—it’s already three. We can continue in the morning.”

The suggestion was met with immediate agreement.

After exchanging quiet goodnights, everyone retreated to their rooms, and one by one, the lights in the Wheeler house went out.

Chapter Text

When he entered the room, he glanced at Jane. She was still sleeping peacefully. He pulled out his toiletries, a pair of sweatpants, and a T-shirt. After tending to his personal care, he changed his clothes and, careful not to wake Jane, lay down beside her. He turned onto his left side, tucked her head under his arm and pulled her close. He watched her for a while, his thoughts drifting back to everything that had happened today. Then he closed his eyes and let sleep take him.

“Mike, I need you to help them understand my choice.”

“But I don’t. I don’t understand.”

“I know… But you will. One day, you will. You understand me—better than anyone. You always have.”

“Please don’t leave me, El. Please don’t do this.”

“I will always be with you.
I love you."

"Goodbye, Mike.”

“EL!”

He jolted upright. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. He looked around in confusion, his chest tight, breath coming fast. Sweat beaded on his forehead, stinging his eyes—he had been having a nightmare. He could hear voices from somewhere far away… no—closer. Very close.

As he struggled to steady his breathing, he turned his head to the left and noticed the person beside him, calling out to him in fear.

“Dad?”

“Princess? I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay, my beautiful girl. I’m so sorry—I scared you. Daddy just had a bad dream. I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

“Did you see El again?”

Mike looked into her sleepy yet curious eyes. No point hiding it—she already knew the answer.

“Yes, sweetie. But I’m okay, don’t worry. Come on—let’s cuddle and go back to sleep,” he said.

"You miss her, dad?”

“Yes, baby. I miss her very much,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice from trembling.

“Why can’t she come back?”

A wonderful question, my beautiful girl. I wish I knew…

“She can’t come back because she’s far away.”

“Let’s go to her. Let’s go where she is.”

Every city, every country we visit, I look for her—but it’s like searching for a needle in a haystack, my baby.

“We can’t, sweetheart. Because I don’t know where she is.”

“I don’t like that.”

That’s my girl…

“I don’t like it either, baby. I really don’t… Come on, it’s still very early. I’m sorry.” He tried to change the subject. “Want me to tell you a story?”

“Yes! Please, dad. Tell me about Eleanor and Miles—but from the new book.”

“Well, look at you… You’re going to tell everyone at school about it later, aren’t you?”

“Only Ben.”

“Ben? And who is Ben?”

“Benjamin Clearwater. The class president. You met him the other day when you picked me up from school, Dad.”

“Oh—that kid? …Your friend?”

“Yes. For now. But he wants to marry me.”

“What?? You’re just six years old! You’re both like two apples tall. When we get back, that boy better start thinking about where he’s gonna hide..”

“Dad!”

“Jane Wheeler!.. We need to sleep. And young lady, we’re not doing the new book. Because I don’t want that Benjamin kid hearing anything about it."

“You’re mean.”

“Excuse me??”

“Tell me a story.”

“Alright… alright. But don’t think I didn’t hear what you said, young lady.”

He tucked Jane in carefully, pulling the covers snug around her, slipped into his storyteller voice.

"Eleanor’s father, the King, had never truly understood Miles. He saw him as nothing more than an ordinary Paladin, unaware of what he was truly capable of when it came to protecting Eleanor. He had no idea what Miles would be willing to do for her.

But the Paladin had made up his mind—he would prove himself. Because if the King came to care for him, then Miles would be allowed to see Eleanor more often.

On the days he didn’t see her, nothing ever felt quite right. Eleanor carried within her a remarkable balance—one that only Miles seemed able to see. She was a Mage who’d cut down her enemies without even blinking… and the same Eleanor who would sit with Miles on the grass of a beautiful orchard, kissing him beneath the open sky.

Miles felt incredibly lucky to witness both sides of her. And truth was, he wanted to be the only one who could. He was jealous. He wanted to be the only person who truly understood her.

That was why he had to prove himself to the King. Why he had to earn the chance to remain by Eleanor’s side.

So, early the next morning, he went to the palace and asked for an audience with the King…”

As the story went on, Jane’s eyes began to flutter closed. Before long, she drifted back to sleep.
Mike fell silent.

He remembered the nightmare.

That wasn’t just a nightmare. It had happened... Ten years ago. In this town.

As he gently stroked Jane’s hair, his eyes wandered around the room. Yes—this room, too, like the basement, had been a witness to everything. In this very bed, he had woken up screaming more times than he could count. He had cried until his voice gave out, staring at the photograph on the nightstand beside him—the same photograph he now kept by his bed at home, tucked into his car’s visor, folded carefully inside his wallet.

Those ten years could have been different.

They could have gone home together that night, wrapped their arms around each other. If he was lucky, he could have kissed her. He could have said, We did it. And they could have left this place behind. Three waterfalls. Or two. Or one. It wouldn’t have mattered where.

God was his witness. God knew -he would’ve gone anywhere with her. He would have lived any life, as long as it was with her. Even if they had to change addresses every single day, he would have done it.

She was the love of his life. And she always would be.

He felt his heart pounding hard in his chest.
It knew. It always had.

For a few minutes, he thought of nothing at all. He was on the verge of falling asleep again.
Then the book came to his mind.

The ending—the part he still had to finish.

How was it supposed to end?

When the Paladin looked up, he saw the Mage standing in the heart of the portal.

No.
No!

Ignoring the archers and rangers, he lunged forward, trying to reach her. He had to. He had to get her out of there. But as he threw himself toward her, he heard the Mage’s voice inside his mind:

“Miles… You understand me. Better than anyone.”

Miles screamed, raw.

“NO! NO!”

Suddenly, everything went black.

When Miles lifted his head, he saw her again.

The Mage.
Eleanor.

She cast the Veilbound Spell and was walking toward him. She stopped right in front of him. They stared at each other through tears. In her eyes, Miles saw not only sorrow, but resolve.

“No… please, Eleanor,” he begged. “You have to get out of here. Please. Don’t leave me, Eleanor. Please don’t do this.”

Eleanor reached out, cupped his cheek.

“I will always be with you. I love you.”

She pulled him close one last time and kissed him— a kiss heavy with goodbye. Miles leaned into it desperately, clinging to her as if love alone could keep her there. Eleanor held his face and, with effort, broke the kiss apart.

With what little strength he had left, Miles whispered,
“Don’t do this. I love you. Please… don’t, my love.”

“Goodbye, Miles.”

The Veilbound Spell shattered. Eleanor was still standing within the portal. Miles kept shouting that he loved her. Eleanor looked at him through tears. With great difficulty, she tore her gaze away from him.

From her Paladin.

She closed her eyes—and accepted her fate.

A violent bolt of lightning tore through the sky. Then came a deafening sound, a blinding flash. Everyone was forced to cover their eyes and ears.

When they opened them—

Gransylor* was gone.
The portal was gone.
The Mage was gone.

The archers stood frozen.
The rangers stood frozen.
Branida** stood frozen—her target had slipped away.

The Mage’s king father collapsed into grief, weeping in agony. Branida ordered her archers and rangers to search the area. They scoured every corner.

They did not find the Mage.

She was gone.

Miles stood frozen in shock. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened. The love of his life was gone.
He couldn’t process it.

While Eleanor’s king father cried out in pain, Miles remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the old grand archive hall where the portal had once stood.

--*---*--*--**---*--

Miles entered his small chamber. He removed his sword. Then his armor. It felt heavier than it ever had before. When he unfastened the final chain, his legs gave out. He fell to his knees and cried.

He cried and begged the heavens.
For the love of his life.
For the future they would never have.

For himself—who had no idea how to live without her.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…

Then…

THEN…

There was no after.
So what came next?

Was she dead?
Trapped inside the portal?
Hiding somewhere within the kingdom, unseen?
Had she found the three waterfalls?

How did she leave?
How did she survive?
Where did she find money?
Did someone help her?

WHAT HAPPENED TO ELEANOR?
(What happened to El?)

Mike felt like his head was about to split open. His heart was racing. He tried to steady himself. He looked at Jane’s beautiful, innocent face. Closing his eyes, he focused on her soft, steady breathing and tried to fall asleep.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…
Then…
Then…

“Dad.”

“Daaad.”

“Dad…”

Mike forced his right eye open. Jane was looking at him with worried eyes.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Dad… I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Turn right when you step out the door, Jane. It’s next to the stairs. Look—this place isn’t any different from our home. It’s safe. This is your second home.”

“My second home.”

“Your second home. People who love you and are always ready to help you live here.”

“Does Hopper live here too?”

“No, babe, Hopper doesn’t live here. Nana and Pops live here. But if you see Hopper, you can ask him anything too. You can trust everyone I introduced you to yesterday.”

“Okay. I love you, Dad.”

He smiled. “I love you too, kiddo.”

He lay there, half-awake now, listening to the rustling of the bed and the soft sound of the door opening and closing. From the hallway came his mother’s voice:

“Jane! Sweetheart, you’re awake. Is there anything special you’d like for breakfast?”

And then Jane’s voice, loud and joyful:

“Fluffy pancaaakes!”

His chest filled with a quiet sense of peace.
If only he had come sooner. Jane didn’t deserve to lose this happiness. And the night hadn’t been as bad as he’d feared. He had only woken once—but by now, after all these years, it had become something like his constant companion.

He sat up in bed and buried his face in his hands.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…
Then…
Then…

“Then…” he whispered, rubbing his hands over his face as if washing it, and pushed himself to his feet.

Nine days.
In nine days, everything would be resolved.

Hope filled his chest. When he stood there, by that waterfall, nine days from now, the words he had been chasing for years—the ending that had never let him go—would finally pour onto the pages of his notebook, flowing like the waters of the falls themselves.

His brow furrowed.

But then what?

Even without counting the short stories and letters, he had been writing at full force for eight years. It had become as natural to him as breathing. What had started as a way to steady his mind had slowly transformed into a vast fantasy world. This series had become his safe place.

And when it ended… what would he do then?

Thankfully, Jane returned to the room just then. Otherwise, Mike would have spiraled into the thought until his head split open. He focused on his daughter. She had slept the entire night in her dress. Mike reached for the suitcase, took out a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a soft sweater, and helped her get dressed.

When Jane ran out of the room, Mike changed his clothes as well, straightened the bed, and followed after her downstairs.

When he came downstairs, he saw Hopper and Ted arguing over a news story on TV. From the kitchen came the voices of three grown women, mixed with the soft giggle of a child. Mike breathed in the warmth of the house.

He wouldn’t do this again.
He wouldn’t take this away from Jane.

Yeah -he made her the pancakes she wanted, braided her hair—but he still wasn’t her mother. He couldn’t fill that space. Still… maybe this place, this warmth, could be good for her.

His hand moved to his left index finger without thinking.

Whatever happened, happened.

He quickly wished everyone good morning, took his car keys from his coat pocket, and walked straight to the car. He opened the glove compartment, found the purple velvet pouch, and took out the wedding ring he had left there.

The moment he slid it onto his left ring finger, he felt like Frodo putting on the One Ring—in a good way. Jane had already taken control and explained everything the day before—and even if she hadn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered. The ring made him feel whole.

He didn’t need to wear it here.
But the ring was more than just a label.

He studied it.
He smiled.

He locked the car and went back inside.

Miles entered his small chamber. He removed his sword. Then his armor. It felt heavier than it ever had before. When he unfastened the final chain, his legs gave out. He fell to his knees and cried.

He cried and begged the heavens.
For the love of his life.
For the future they would never have.

For himself—who had no idea how to live without her.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…

Then…

“Hey, Mike?”

“Michael?”

“Michael!”

He snapped back to himself. For a moment, he couldn’t place where he was.
“Uh—yeah,” he said, pulling himself together. “Yeah. What were we saying?”

“You okay?”

“I’m okay. Really, I’m fine. My brain snagged on something my publisher said -nothing’s wrong. I’m okay. Yeah, what were you talking about?”

He looked at Jane. She was blissfully happy with her pancakes, looking like she had about four minutes left before slipping into a sugar coma.

“We were talking about Iceland. What’s the plan?” Nancy asked.

“I’m going next week. I planned four days. There’s not much of a time difference, but I’ll rest a bit before heading out. Maybe I’ll watch the Northern Lights—seeing them in Norway helped me write. Then I’m hoping I’ll finish the book with an ending that finally feels right. After I get back, I’ll come here first, then head to Chicago. Jane will go back to school. Then Christmas is coming up, and after that there’ll be meetings for a while, and in the following months, the publishing and promotion process for the book. Signings and all that. But after that… there’s nothing yet.”

“I wish I could go with you…” Jane said softly.

“Yes, baby… I wish you could,” he said gently. “But you remember what happened in Norway. Not having my favorite travel companion hurts me too—but knowing my travel companion is healthy matters more to me. We’ll go again when you’re a little older, okay? Maybe then you won’t get sick so easily.”

“Okay… The Northern Lights were really pretty. But being sick was really bad.”

“Yes, exactly,” he said with a smile, stroking Jane’s hair. “When you’re sick, I get scared of the person you turn into.”

Jane smiled—and then noticed the ring.
“I’m glad you’re wearing it again. I like it.”

“So do I, sweetheart,” he said, still smiling.

“Well…” Hopper said, glancing at the ring out of the corner of his eye. “Of course, all we want is for you to find what you’re looking for, kid. But what if you don’t? I know I probably shouldn’t be saying this—but we just don’t want you to put all your hope there and end up hurting.”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Mike said. “I guess I’ll have to finish it somehow if that happens. But I want to honor her one last time—do the best I can. My publisher has suggested writing companion books centered around the Mage… but in the end, this is the original series. It has to be the best version of itself.”

Everyone nodded in quiet understanding.

After breakfast, Joyce left with Hopper; Nancy and Jonathan went out to meet the others, and Karen stepped outside with Jane. Karen’s attention was fixed entirely on her—she had eyes for no one else. Ted, meanwhile, was watching the midday news.

When the rest of the Party arrived, Mike and Will headed down to the basement with them.

Mike talked about where the book had led him so far—the part he still couldn’t complete—and about the trips he had already taken, as well as the one he was about to take to Iceland.

“So… yeah. I don’t really know,” he said. “That’s the final stop. I’ll go there and wait for the idea to come to me—somehow, miraculously. That’s the plan.”

Will finally let out the thought he’d been holding in since breakfast.

“Are you going to talk about the kryptonites in the book?” he asked. “I mean… are you going to use your theory?”

All eyes turned to Mike.

Eight years ago—right here, after their last D&D campaign—Mike had laid it all out for them. The theory that the kryptonites had blocked El, that she couldn’t cross over after being pulled out of the truck; that she’d escaped through the tunnels with Kali’s help; and that the person they had seen had been an illusion created by Kali.

He had told them he believed it.

And the Party had believed him too—truly believed him. After everything they had seen, their minds had been forced open to the impossible. On paper, the theory was tight.

But to put it in the book?

"I can’t do that, Will,” Mike said. “Yeah—okay, the Soviets collapsed and the war era is over, but listen, guys. I can’t put her safety at risk while trying to honor her. You know these books are written from what we lived through. Even if the army isn’t breathing down our necks anymore, all it would take is one unhinged person—someone who knows this isn’t pure fiction—to take that theory seriously and start looking for El.

I want her to be safe. Do you understand? I won’t do that to her. That’s why I’m not just avoiding the theory that starts with kryptonite blocking her—I’m not even mentioning kryptonite at all. There’s no reason to plant ideas in anyone’s head. I don’t want to say it, not even indirectly.

I have to give her a happy ending another way. Without triggering traps. That’s why I need to take this final journey—both to honor her at those three great waterfalls and to find an answer to the question of what happened to Eleanor. Even if I never know what really happened to El…”

“Well…” Dustin began, “do you think she ever actually feels safe? I mean—she knows the Soviets collapsed, right?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said, lowering his head. It felt like the air in the room had thinned all at once—that suffocating feeling again. “I mean… on one side, there’s what I want. On the other, there’s reality. If we’re talking about what I want—I want her to reach out to me. To tell me where she is. I want to go to her, wherever that is, and devote the rest of my life to her. If I’m being completely honest, I want to bring her here. But reality… If we’re talking about reality, none of that is possible, guys. She might not feel safe. She might have completely withdrawn from everything happening in the world. She might be married—”

A sudden wave of nausea hit him. Stop it, Wheeler. You’re not a kid anymore. It’s been ten years. Grow up.

“—she might even have a family. And out of all those possibilities, I would choose that one. I would choose her being married, happy, with children—because that would mean she’s happy. She’s safe. That’s what matters.”

Even though every word hurt, he stood behind all of it.

If her being safe meant they would never see each other again, he would accept it.

Was that what love was?

Yes.
It was.

The conversation carried on. Laughter, teasing—Dustin making an outrageously inappropriate joke, Max freezing in shock before heading upstairs with a "why am I even friends with you people" attitude. Lucas followed her, laughing.
“Max, you can’t leave us. You love us too much,” he called after her.

Dustin dissolved into a fit of laughter. Mike laughed with them—but every now and then, without meaning to, his eyes drifted toward the corner where the blanket fort used to be.

It didn’t hurt as much to look anymore.
But it didn’t feel good either.

He was just curious.

What had happened to her?
Was she safe?

That was why he looked for her in every country, every city he visited. It was like searching for a needle in a haystack—but if he didn’t look, he’d hate himself. And he already had plenty of things he could hate himself for. Like that bomb—

Okay. Stop. Right there. You’re falling into that well again.

He didn’t want to interfere with her life. He just wanted to know that she was okay. If she was married, if she had children, he wasn’t going to say "leave everything and come with me". He only wanted the contradictions inside him to end.

After ten years, he wasn’t expecting her to still be with him.

El was extraordinary.
She was beautiful—effortlessly so—and kind in a way that made people want to be better just by standing near her. She was the girl everyone dreamed of loving. And wherever she had gone, of course there would be men.

Men smarter than Mike.
Stronger. More put together.
Men who knew exactly what they wanted, who built serious futures, who weren’t awkward, who weren’t fumbling through life, who weren’t… him.

They would notice her. They always did.
And El—El would notice them too.

His chest tightened. The thought turned sharp, ugly.

Okay, Wheeler. Wow. Easy.

Jealousy was getting the best of him. Again..

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself back into the present.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples for a moment. When he opened them, Will was looking at him with concern. Mike gave him a small expression that said I’m fine. Just then, the door opened and all eyes turned toward the stairs.

Jane came rushing down, her footsteps quick and eager. She was carrying a huge stuffed dinosaur.

Yes. Jane and her dinosaur obsession. More than an obsession—when she grew up, she wanted to be a dinosaur. Specifically, a velociraptor.

She smiled at him, and every trace of worry vanished.

Hopper was right. Jane was going to heal him.

“Dad! Nana got this for me. Isn’t it huge?” she said excitedly. “I wanted to name it Miles, but there’s already a Miles at home. So I thought about it, and I want to name it Ben.”

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

“Are you saying the name Ben a little too often lately, or is it just me, young lady?” he said. “Did we run out of other names? There are tons of names. Why Ben?”

“Daaad.”

“What do you mean, daaad?”

“But… daaad,” she said, her face falling. He saw her eyes starting to well up.

Damn it. He couldn’t resist that look.

He pulled her onto his lap at once and kissed her forehead. “Okay, okay. I didn’t say anything. You don’t have to—okay. Ben it is.”

He turned to the dinosaur and held out his hand. “Hello, Ben. My name’s Mike. I’m Jane’s dad. If you make her sad, I’ll lock you up in Jurassic Park.”

He shook the dinosaur’s paw.

Will smirked. “Ben, huh? Is Ben someone special?”

Mike shot him a deadly look. and at the same time, Jane looked straight at Will. She nodded eagerly, as if confirming it for him—quick, proud, unmistakable.

Mike glanced down at her, caught between exasperation and affection.

Of course you would, he thought.

Will was clearly enjoying this far too much. Laughing, he headed upstairs. At his mother’s call, Jane sprang from Mike’s lap and ran up the stairs like an arrow. Mike followed after her—Dustin right beside him.

- Kid, we wanted to invite you to breakfast. Joyce is making a wonderful spread. We’d really like you to join us. And when you come, you can take whatever you want. You know—anything you want.”

- Hop, I… I don’t think I can.”

- Kid, I know. But I’d hate for you to walk away without taking something you know carries meaning between you. I wouldn’t want that. Breakfast or not—we’ll be waiting. But we’d be happy if you came.”

- I… I’ll try to be there.”

- Alright, kid. See you.”

Now he had reached the final turn leading to the cabin, a serving tray strapped to the back of his bike. He stopped. He felt his eyes begin to burn.

When he took that turn, he would see the porch.

If the weather was nice, El would be waiting for him there. The moment they saw each other, they would give one another the brightest smile they could manage. Mike would pedal faster. When he got close enough to the porch, he would practically leap off the bike and run toward her.

Sometimes he would trip as he ran. Sometimes his knee would split open where it hit a stone. But he never cared. He didn’t see the blood. He didn’t feel the pain.

Because every one of his senses was fixed on El.

It was as if he were underwater, breaking toward the surface just to breathe—running toward his oxygen. El would try to get as close as possible, as if she could merge with him if she were allowed to. Feeling her warmth was a gift to Mike.

It was like stepping into heaven.

Maybe even better.

The weather was nice.
A morning when El would have been waiting for him on the porch.

If none of this had happened…

He turned the final bend, pedaling reluctantly, and the burning in his eyes spilled into tears. He stared at the empty porch.

He stopped.

Taking a deep breath, he got off the bike and began walking toward the cabin slowly, pushing it beside him.

There was no need to rush anymore.
No frantic pedaling.
No running.

They stayed behind.
Those days stayed behind...

With every step toward the cabin, the number of needles piercing his heart seemed to grow.

He glanced toward the side of the cabin beneath El’s window. He had entered through the door more often—but the times he climbed in through that window were far from few. More than once, he’d slipped in that way while Hopper slept—or escaped through it so Hopper wouldn’t catch him. Once, he’d practically dived headfirst out of it, injuring his forehead and nose. But anything was better than getting caught by Hopper.

And countless times—too many to remember—he had gotten drunk there, passed out, and stayed the night.

“El… I can’t take this anymore. Please come back. I can’t do this. If you won’t come back, then take me with you. Please. I’m begging you. I can’t do this without you.”

She hadn’t come back for 528 days.
And she hadn’t taken him with her.

Sometimes Hopper had taken him home. Sometimes Nancy.

And sixteen months ago, he had fallen to his knees at Hopper’s feet—right there—and begged:

“If you’re hiding her, please—just tell me, Hop. I swear I won’t try to see her. I just need to know she’s alive. That’s enough. Please.”

Coming here was a mistake. A huge mistake. But he had to do it.

He fought the phantom needles making his body flinch, drawing in slow, steady breaths. He unfastened the large serving tray strapped to his bike and walked toward the porch.

Standing at the door, he willed the tears threatening to fall to retreat.

One more deep breath.

Then he knocked.

When the door opened, he found Will standing in front of him. Will was looking everywhere except at Mike. Voices drifted in from the kitchen—Joyce was giving Hopper instructions about something. Will stepped aside, and Mike went in.

The moment he entered, his eyes snagged on her bedroom door.

Hold it together, Mike. Not now.

His gaze dropped to the floor.

“Uh… um… Mom sent this for you.”

“Thank you, Mike. Come on, let’s sit at the table.”

“Joyce… I— I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I just… could I just take it?”

Joyce looked at Hopper. Hopper was trying to keep himself together; he nodded quickly in approval. Joyce stepped out of Mike’s way.

As Mike walked toward the bedroom door, he felt the ground slipping out from under his feet.

Be steady, Mike. Not now.

He wrapped his hand around the doorknob. Took a deep breath. Squeezed his eyes shut. Then he turned the knob and opened the door.

He took one step inside.

The wooden floor creaked beneath his foot, loud and sharp, almost like a curse.

With his eyes still closed, he shut the door.

Completely.

He opened his eyes.

El was sitting on the bed, her back resting against the wall. She was sitting cross-legged, a pillow laid across her legs, reading the latest Wonder Woman comic. She hadn’t been able to wait for him on the porch—her stomach had been hurting. She set the comic aside and opened her arms wide. She smiled at him.

He set the bags down at the foot of the bed first—then buried himself in her arms, holding her tightly. They stayed like that for long minutes.

“You’re here,” El said as they finally pulled apart.

“Always,” Mike replied. “And I didn’t come empty-handed—I got your favorite candy. I told Mr. Light, ‘Open a fresh pack. My girlfriend deserves the best. I don’t want candy that was opened two days ago.’ And he said, ‘Of course, Mr. Wheeler. Whatever you wish, sir,’” Mike added, mimicking Mr. Light’s voice.

He was sure he looked completely dumb.
But El laughed. That was the point.

“So… how are you feeling? Does it still hurt? If the pain’s reaching your back, I can give you a massage. I’ve got, what—about four whole minutes before Hopper notices and kills me. Worth considering,” he said.

“Mike,” she said, laughing as she lightly punched his shoulder. “He’s not going to kill you. I won’t let him. You know that.”

“Normally he’d kill me in ten seconds. Because you object, it goes up to four minutes.”

“Ugh… you’re so annoying. So annoying,” she said, playfully hitting his shoulder again. She lifted her hand to hit him one more time—but instead, it slid to his neck, pulling him closer.

Mike laughed against El’s neck as she ran her fingers through his hair, stroking it gently.

He opened his eyes.
An empty bed greeted him.

For a moment, the air left his lungs.
Time seemed to slow.

He couldn’t look anywhere but the bed.

He was in the room he had once entered almost every day—
and hadn’t set foot in for 528 days now.

The room he had tried to come back to before, only to feel his hand burn the instant it touched the doorknob—then fleeing, running from it. 

He was in the fortress where he had shared his most intimate moments with El.

It didn’t feel the same anymore.
Its soul was gone.

Every name he had ever given the room now drifted, weightless, into nothing.

They stayed behind.
Those days stayed behind…

He tried to take a step, but his feet refused to obey. His eyes were still burning.

He whispered a weak “hey” into the room. It came out just above a whisper—yet his throat burned as if he had screamed at the top of his lungs.

Forcing himself, he tried to look around.

The dresser was coated in dust now. He tried to draw the stale air of a room no one had touched for months into his lungs.

He couldn’t.

He moved toward the bed in slow, measured steps. On the nightstand beside it, he saw the hand-painted mug he had given El as a gift.

And the water inside it—half-drunk.

Every connection in his body severed.

He collapsed where he stood with a loud crash and began to cry. No—this wasn’t ordinary crying. It was burning him alive. The phantom needles in his body drove in deeper, more eager. The stale air refused to enter his lungs.

Mike was burning -burning alive.

With the last, desperate instinct for survival—through pain and lack of air—he threw his head back and screamed. As loud as he could, as if he wanted to shatter everything around him.

Mike was on fire.
Burning alive.

When the scream broke, his mouth was filled with blood and tears.

He cried…

For the water left unfinished in the mug.
For the bed hastily made.
For dreams left half-lived.
For the childhood a young girl never got to have.
For the youth she never lived.
For the girl who sacrificed herself for the world at only sixteen—his girlfriend, his companion, the woman he had imagined as his future wife, the mother of the children he would never have.

For the man who didn’t know how to live without her.

No one touched him. No one tried to lift him from the floor. They gave him time.

He didn’t hear Hopper crying with him on the other side of the door.

When his brain finally went numb from crying, he looked around without meaning. His voice was gone—his throat no longer worked. There wasn’t a single tear left to fall from his eyes.

His knees felt useless. He dragged himself onto the bed. He looked at El’s pillow and buried his face into it.

He took the deepest breath of his life.

Mike was at the bottom of the ocean, and that pillow was his oxygen.

He could smell El.

It should have been impossible after all this time—but logic had no place here. Every part of him filled with that scent. After she left, he had fallen into cigarettes, alcohol, and a swamp of weed. But none of it had ever numbed him the way this scent did now.

He lay down against the pillow and closed his eyes.
He drew in another deep breath.

He opened his eyes.

El was looking at him with those doe eyes of hers.
“I wish you didn’t have to go home,” she said sadly.

“I wish,” Mike sighed. “I don’t want to leave this place. All I want is to stay here, lie next to you, and hold you tight.”

“Then stay.”

“I guess you don’t really want to build a future with me. Because Hopper’s about to walk in, and the moment he sees me this close to you, you won’t have a boyfriend you can build a future with anymore. Unless… you want someone else. I wouldn’t know.”

“You know I don’t,” she said. “Why do you say that every time?”

“Because I like hearing you say you don’t.”

“You—” she started, playfully hitting him now, “you’re so… annoying… and… and… and—”

“Hey—ouch. That actually hurt. 'And… and…' what?”

She paused, looked at him with her whole smile.
“Sweet.”

Mike melted completely. He smiled with everything he had and kissed her back.

He opened his eyes.

The empty green wall stared back at him with its gloom. It hadn’t looked like this before. It used to be a gentle green. Back then. Now it was the ugliest color he had ever seen.

He tried to get out of bed. The first time, the command didn’t reach his body. The second time, his head spun and he collapsed back onto the mattress. On the third try, he stood more firmly -stood- and took the pillow with him

He felt like a robot.
No—a zombie, more like it.
He wasn’t sure.

But he knew one thing: he wasn’t a living organism anymore.

He gathered the pillow, the blanket, the comics, the lip gloss, the T-shirt, the nightgown, the scarf, the beanie, the photos she had asked Mike for—drawing little hearts on them—the comb, the shirt, the hat, the hair clip, the notebook she wrote in on the days she missed Mike, the pen she chewed while thinking about what to write, the custom mixtape cassette, the cardigan, and countless other unbearably important things his hands could reach.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, the mug ended up in his hand.

The water inside it had been sitting there for sixteen months.
Stagnant. Old. Heavy with it.

Before the thought could even form, he tipped it and splashed the water onto his face, right there in the room. It was cold—not refreshing, not clean. It smelled faintly wrong. The kind of wrong that had nowhere to go anymore. His hands shook as it slid down his cheeks, soaking his skin, dripping onto the floor.

He leaned forward, gasping, letting the stale water keep him upright when nothing else could.

When the mug was empty, he set it down with care.

And kept packing.

He stormed out of the room and went straight to the bathroom without looking at anyone, grabbing El’s shampoo. On his way back, Will handed him large bags. Will’s eyes were bloodshot too—but Mike wasn’t in a state to notice. Or Hopper’s. Or Joyce’s.

He began packing everything into the bags. Even when the bags were full, there was still more he needed to take.

Be rational, Mike. You can’t do this.

I can. I have to.

Tell Hopper to drive you home.
You can’t carry all of this.

He went into the living room and looked at Hopper. The man’s eyes were bloodshot—just like his own.

“Hopper,” he said weakly. “Is there any chance you could drive me home? I mean… I think some help would be good.”

“Of course, kid,” Hopper said. “We can go whenever you want.”

They stayed behind.
Those days stayed behind…

Now he was there again.
Once more, he looked at the same porch.

But now he knew.
She wasn’t waiting there. She wouldn’t be.

He looked at the same window again.
Now he knew.

She wouldn’t lean out, watching until he disappeared from sight.
She wouldn’t bend down to place one last kiss on the night.

After eight years, he was spending his final hours in the town he had returned to—right there, before leaving again. He had entrusted his daughter to his mother. He would return to Chicago alone, pack his suitcase, and tomorrow, he would go to Iceland—to honor the woman he loved more than life itself, and to write an ending worthy of her.

And now he stood there, looking on with longing.

He saw the boy in love pedaling fast toward the house.
He saw the girl in love waiting on the porch—excited, as if she hadn’t seen him in months, even though she saw him every day.

The boy practically threw his bike aside, ran to her, held her tight, and kissed her with a longing too big to contain. When they pulled apart, she gave him the most beautiful smile in the world, and they went inside together.

He kept looking.

He knew.

This moment would never happen again.

They stayed behind.
Those days stayed behind…

Chapter Text

Mike Wheeler knew what cold climates were. Chicago winters could be brutally unforgiving.
But this—this was on a whole different level. Right now, he was freezing his ass off.

The Atlantic wind hit his face like a slap, sharp enough to cut. After a twelve-hour flight and another four hours on the road in a rental car from Reykjavík, he had finally set foot in the small town of Grundarfjörður.

He felt wrecked—so exhausted that he figured jet lag wouldn’t even bother showing up. He only had to push through a few more hours, and honestly, the cold was doing a pretty good job of keeping him upright.

He parked the car, grabbed his suitcases and laptop, and headed to the hotel he’d booked ahead of time. At check-in, he mentioned he’d need to make international calls. Then he headed upstairs.

Home, sweet home.
Warm.

The room was small but felt like a refuge: the bathroom right by the door, a double bed across from it, and a dim bedside lamp casting soft light. Mike dropped his bags and sat on the bed.

He called Hawkins immediately.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up. His mother.

“Wheelers.”

“Hey, Mom. I made it—I’m in Iceland now. Just wanted to let you know. How are you? Jane, how—”

“Daaaad—Dad, did you get there? Is there a lot of snow? Did you see the waterfall? You brought Mr. Traveler with you, right? Did you eat? I had lunch, Nana made really good meatballs. Then I played with Dino Ben and then—”

Jane was off and running, words tumbling out in pure excitement as she narrated everything she’d done. Mike listened, smiling.

He missed her already -more than he’d expected.

—and then Pops said that if I use my brain, I’ll make a lot of money someday. Aunt Holly plays house with me. I served her tea and we talked about Ben, and Derek came by a little while ago—they’re going out, and he promised he’d bring me candy when he comes back.”

Ben…

For a brief moment, Mike truly understood what Hopper must have felt that year.
Sure, he couldn’t exactly clean a gun in front of the kid—but asking if Ben would like to play the victim in the murder novel he was about to write? That was still an option.

He let out a quiet chuckle.
Four seconds in which he was the only one on Earth amused by the thought.

“I’m really glad you’re having fun, sweetheart. I’m good too—I’ve checked into the hotel. And no, there are no polar bears here. And yes, I brought Mr. Traveler with me. A trip without him? Absolutely not, young lady. You tell Nana I’m doing fine, okay? Don’t miss your bedtime, and make sure you listen to Nana and Pops. Deal? I love you so much, my beautiful girl.”

“Okay, Dad. I love you too.”

After he hung up, he yawned. The exhaustion finally caught up with him, right as his stomach growled in protest.
He decided to stop by the restaurant he’d noticed next to the hotel.

He decided on soup—nothing too heavy. He hesitated between fish soup and lamb, then went with the fish. The warmth of it settled deep, pulling sleep closer with every spoonful.

Back in his room, he began getting things ready for the next day.

Tomorrow.

Years of searching. Years of wondering what the final words would be like.
Tomorrow, it would be over.

He opened his laptop and read through the last lines he had written:

He cried and begged the heavens.
For the love of his life.
For the future they would never have.

For himself—who had no idea how to live without her.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…

Tomorrow, it would be done.

Tomorrow he would go to the three waterfalls—think, feel, let himself have those heavy moments, cry over the dreams that never came true. But by this time tomorrow, he would have placed the final period in the book.

He would rest his head on the pillow a little easier, knowing he had finally found a way to honor the love of his life properly.

Over the next two days, he would explore, buy souvenirs, and then return to his daughter.

He shut his laptop and went through his nightly routine. From his bag, he took out Mr. Traveler—the medium-sized dinosaur Jane only ever brought along on trips. He changed clothes, turned on the bedside lamp, plugged in his phone, and switched off the room’s main light.

He lay down.

The comfort of the bed washed over him almost immediately. And then—just as quickly—he felt alone. He turned the ring on his finger, slowly.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his wallet.

He sat on the bed and carefully propped the plush dinosaur against the pillow. Then he reached into his wallet and took out the photograph he kept there with deliberate care. He lay back down.

There wasn’t a single corner of that photo he hadn’t memorized. Over the past ten years, he had looked at it countless times. He watched the beautiful smile of the girl in the picture.

They had been the same age when it was taken. Now, Mike was twelve years older than the El in that photograph.

What did she look like now, he wondered. Her hair, her style of clothes—what were her hobbies? How had life treated her? He was certain she was still breathtakingly beautiful, but had grief worn her down too?

Had she forgotten him, forgotten everything they’d lived through?

His eyes closed as he tried to remember. A futile effort—he knew that—but he pushed anyway: the warmth of her arms when she hugged him, the taste of her lips—

Nothing.

He hadn’t been able to remember the taste of her lips for a long time. The moment he first realized that, he’d accused himself of betrayal and gone six days without eating a single bite. When he finally poured his heart out to Nancy, she told him it was normal. After hours of talking, she convinced him that no one remembers everything forever.

He kept looking at the photo.

His girlfriend—smiling with all her innocence and quiet brilliance—would fake her own death and disappear just two years after this picture was taken.

Mike was still furious with himself; that familiar feeling sent his blood boiling. How had he not seen it? He’d been so caught up in convincing himself they’d get a happy ending that he’d missed the danger right in front of him.

El was exhausted from her training. She didn’t know how things would turn out. She felt inadequate. Anxious.

So Mike had started talking about the future—about the things they could do someday. Before the final crawl, he’d told her about his dream of the three waterfalls. He’d said that once Vecna was dealt with, they would move somewhere with waterfalls.

“Idiot boy,” he whispered to himself, anger sharp in his voice.

Not for dreaming—no.
For losing himself completely in the dream. For being childish. For not finding the right words, the kind that would have been enough to make her stay. For falling short.

And yet—the dreams had been beautiful.

Every plan for the future, small or large, had made El smile. Sometimes it was something as simple as choosing the color of a living room wall. Other times, it was wondering whether a movie they loved would ever get a sequel. Either way, it made her smile.

One summer day, after coming through the tunnel to the cabin, they lay wrapped around each other on El’s bed, talking. She’d said she thought the walls of her room should really be yellow. Mike had answered that maybe, one day, every room in their house could be yellow.

Her face had lit up.

That was when they’d started imagining more—what their house would look like, the furniture, everything. From that day on, they kept dreaming.

“You make me feel like I’m not a project,” she had told him once. “When I’m with you, I feel human.”

Mike’s heart had started pounding so loudly it filled the room. El had heard it too—she’d placed her hand over his chest and laughed.
“Hey. Calm down.”

Then she’d looked at him with those beautiful eyes and kissed him.

That kiss—so intense it had stolen his breath. A taste he could no longer remember, and punished himself for not remembering.

El hadn’t let herself get lost in those dreams to the point of neglecting her training. She’d stayed careful. Focused. Done everything right.

But Mike—

Despite knowing, every single minute of every single day, that the military had been searching for his girlfriend for eighteen months, he hadn’t planned for it. El had warned him—they’d come up with new tricks, new strategies. But Mike, being a complete child, had treated it like a side quest.

Idiot boy.
Idiot.

He should have had a clearer plan. He should have anticipated that they’d be waiting for them.

For a moment, he thought he deserved none of it.
Again.

He started taking deep, deliberate breaths. These thoughts hadn’t come back in a long time.

Calm down, Mike. Think of Jane.
You can’t do this to her—she trusts you.
Calm down. Think of Jane.
Just think of Jane.

Think of Disneyland. Think of her loud, unrestrained laughter when she saw Mickey Mouse.

Calm down.
Calm down.

He looked at the photograph and, with trembling lips, pressed a kiss to it.

“I’m sorry, El,” he whispered. “I hope you’re safe—wherever you are—and that you’re with a man who truly does things for you.”

He turned off the bedside lamp and pulled the covers up around himself. He tucked Mr. Traveler under his left arm and, holding the photograph against his heart, let himself drift into sleep.

“Happily how?”

“…They travel to a faraway land. A… a peaceful place. Somewhere beautiful, with—like—three waterfalls or something. And they start over. Together.”

“Do you think that could be real for us?”

“Yeah. Of course.
…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”

His eyes opened.

The room was still pitch-dark.

The words he’d spoken years ago loop relentlessly in his mind:

“…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”
“…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”
“…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”
“…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”
“…If Vecna’s gone, then what’s stopping us?”

He pressed his head hard into the pillow, trying to silence his thoughts. It’s useless.

He got up and grabs his Walkman, slides in the slow-mix cassette. Lying back down, he presses the photograph to his chest once more, focuses on the soft music filling his ears—and lets sleep take him again.

His eyelids have absolutely no intention of opening—but the pressure in his bladder makes it very clear that they don’t get a say. Still, they resist. So Mike reaches up with his left hand and manually forces them open.

Morning light.

He looks down at the photograph resting on his chest and whispers, “Good morning.” He sets it on the nightstand, leaves Mr. Traveler on the bed, and heads for the bathroom.

By the time he finishes his routine, he knows he’s ready for the day.

Today was the day.

His holy day

He’d been planning this ending for years -and this Iceland trip for the last four months. He’s rehearsed it all countless times. Researched everything. Run it through his head over and over again.

And yet -something is stopping him.

Planning and doing are not the same thing.

In his mind, everything flows neatly in bullet points: what to bring, what to do, how the day will unfold. But his body doesn’t respond. It ignores the commands. He has to force himself to reach for his laptop; once that motion happens, the rest follows.

He packs his backpack carefully: first the laptop, then the thermos—currently empty, to be filled at a café—an extra set of clothes, his notebook, the camera, pens, spare batteries, a cassette tape, the printed plan, brochures.

And Mr. Traveler.

Because if Mr. Traveler doesn’t appear in the photos, he’s certain Jane will treat it like the Obi-Wan Kenobi–Darth Vader confrontation—and by the end of it, Mike will deserve to become a Force ghost.
If that’s even an option.

He should change now.

A thick gray sweater. Black jeans. Heavy socks.

He takes the photograph from the nightstand and slips it into his wallet. Grabs his phone. Puts on his coat, scarf, and beanie. Slides the Walkman headphones over his ears.

He stops in front of the door.

Go.
Do more than your best.
Honor her the way she deserves.

He takes a deep breath—and steps out of the room.

He heads to the small café next to the restaurant—for a light breakfast and the first coffee of the day. And the next one, too.

As he scans the menu, his eyes catch on the waffles.

He hadn’t willingly eaten waffles since that day—unless Jane had insisted. And under normal circumstances, they weren’t exactly a great breakfast choice anyway. But today wasn’t a normal day. Not even close.

He orders a waffle dressed lightly enough not to spike his sugar, paired with its complete opposite: a plain, unsweetened coffee. For the ritual, he adds two plain waffles. And another plain coffee for his thermos.

He lets his gaze drift around the café, checking—again—to see if El is there.

A habit he can’t seem to break when he travels. He knows she won’t be. Still, he can’t stop himself.

One of the customers is reading his book. Mike feels embarrassed for no real reason; the fact that his words are being read still feels strange. The reader notices him and approaches politely, asking— in halting English—if he might sign it.

Mike asks her name. On the first page of the Icelandic edition, he writes With love, to Katrín, then adds a simple location pin and the name of the café. He finishes with the date and his signature.

After she leaves, he pulls out the papers and brochures he’d prepared and goes over the plan again.

The drive to the waterfalls will take only four or five minutes. He’ll park the car, follow the walking path, and reach the spot with a clear view from across the water.

And then—he’ll wait for a magical hand to touch him.

He finishes breakfast quickly. Grabs his backpack. Gets into the car. Follows the signs until he reaches the waterfall area.

Now he should get out. Take his backpack. Sit where the brochure showed. Wait for whatever is going to happen. Face everything he’s been avoiding.

But for the second time today, his body betrays him.

He can’t find the strength to step out of the car.

Come on, Mike. Come on.
You have to do this.
You’ve done it three times before. What happened—did they bite you? No.

He counts to three and gets out.

He grabs his backpack and the map. From the trunk, he takes the mat he can spread on the ground, straps it to the bag, and starts down the path toward the waterfalls, following the signs.

The closer he gets, the louder the sound grows—and his heart rate rises with it. He takes in the few people around, the small caravan coffee stand.

If he’d known, he would’ve bought his coffee here.

Oh well...

As he approaches from the right side of the waterfall, he catches sight of one stream.

There it is.

The three waterfalls.

His steps quicken. Now the second stream comes into view—and then the third. Just like in the campaigns: noble, majestic. Beautiful.

He follows the path on the left, descending toward the front of the falls.

And there it is.
Right in front of him.

“When this is all over, we’re leaving. Escaping to some far-off land. Remember? Somewhere they can’t find us. Somewhere where there’s at least one waterfall.”

He unclips the mat from his backpack, spreads it on the ground, and sits. Closing his eyes, he lets himself listen to the raw, powerful roar of the water.

“I’m here, El,” he murmurs. “Again—at one of the three waterfalls we once talked about coming to. Unfortunately, this is the last triple waterfall. What do you think I should do? Start visiting twin waterfalls instead?”

A faint, broken smile.

“I’m here today for the same reason as always. To think about you. To hope—just a little—that I might find the ending for the books I wrote you into. I know the book will reach its ending, one way or another. I just don’t know if I’ll ever get to see you again in this lifetime.”

He opens his eyes and watches the falls.

Under their sheer enormity, he feels like an ant.

He takes one of the waffles from its wrapper and eats it in small bites. If El were here right now, she would love this. She’d eat too—talking about something, anything.

He can almost see her there.

She looks a lot like her sixteen-year-old self—just with longer hair. When he tries to imagine her as she is now, that’s all he can manage: longer hair. Hair reaching all the way down her back.

It’s what she always wanted.

And it’s how Mike imagines her.

It’s the best he can do.
It’s the only thing he can do.

"I’ve been mourning you for more years than I ever got to know you" he thought.

"We didn’t deserve this. We absolutely did not deserve this. We should have been here together—grabbing coffee from the caravan up there, sitting wrapped in blankets over our shoulders, watching these waterfalls hand in hand.

I miss you, El.
I’ve missed you for 3,681 days. I’ve been waiting for you for 3,681 days.

Even when I say I’ve stopped waiting, I still carry the hope that every knock on the door might be you. Even if you never come back, I’d settle for knowing you’re alive. That you’re okay.

If you just said, “I didn’t die, Mike. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m happy. It’s safe here,” that would be enough.

Please, El. I’m begging you.

Don’t make me suffer anymore. I know—I deserve it. My choices turned everything into this. I didn’t make a proper plan. I didn’t tell you enough how much I loved you.

But for ten years—ten fucking years—I’ve paid for it. Every fucking day of those ten fucking years, I’ve felt the pain. I swear I have.

Please. Don’t let me suffer anymore.
I can’t take it now.
Please—"

The tears finally snap him back—the cold spray from the waterfall freezing against his face, mixing with them.

He reaches into his backpack, pulls out his laptop, and waits for it to power on.

He cried and begged the heavens.
For the love of his life.
For the future they would never have.

For himself—who had no idea how to live without her.

His voice broke as he cried.
And cried.
And cried.

Then…

Come on, Mike. Okay. Let’s calm down.
Take a deep breath. You’re at the waterfalls. This is a peaceful place.
Calm down—and think about what happened to Eleanor.

What happened to Eleanor?

She got trapped in the portal and crossed into an alternate universe.

No.
No, she didn’t. That’s bullshit..

Okay. The portal was closed—but the inside didn’t collapse, because there was another passage. They just didn’t know about it. And that passage kept the bridge alive, and Eleanor crossed through it and hid somewhere deep within the kingdom?

Stop.
If there had been another passage, it would’ve been known.

Actually—what if she’d made a secret plan with her old friend, Lord Wesley, and somehow escaped the portal and he helped her disappear?

But then—how did she not go through the portal?

I DON’T KNOW!

The world went quiet.

And then he realizes—everyone is looking at him.

He said it out loud.
He shouted.

He lowers his head, pulls the thermos from his bag, takes a sip of coffee. He doesn’t even taste it.

“How did you survive, Eleanor?” he says, barely above a whisper.

“How did you survive, El?”

What did Miles do next?

He couldn’t have gone home and slept.

Did he go out and look for her?

Or did Eleanor pull him back into the plane of concealment?

Or—

Or did she send a yellow tulip the next day?

To say: I’m alive.

Ridiculous.

Would Eleanor have given away her location?

Knowing Miles would come looking?

El wouldn’t have done that.

But Eleanor might have.

She would have.

Because Miles was brave.

He said he loved her until the very end.
He told her not to go.

What did you do, Mike?

What could you do?

You know, Mike. You know the kryptonite stopped her. You didn’t put that in the book—but now you can’t finish the story. Your fear is blocking you.

No. I just want her to be okay. I can finish it without kryptonite. Or something like it.

You can’t. You spent entire books talking about her power. Won’t your readers ask why she couldn’t kill Branida and her soldiers?

I’m a writer. I’ll find a way.

Then write the ending yourself. Why are you running around waterfalls like a madman? What are you hoping to find? Did you really come all this way just to finish your book?

Tell me, Michael.
What are you actually running from?

I— No. I can’t talk about her. If I do, they’ll come after her. I don’t want to put her in danger.

You could’ve stayed home and written the ending, Mike. Why are you here?

Say it.

Say it!

I’m here because I need to believe she loved me despite all my stupidity. Everything that proves I ever moved forward—I owe it to her. I never got over her. I never moved on. I’ve lived a half-life, crushed between guilt and love. I’m here because I’m hoping to find her!

I’m weak! I’m a coward! I miss her! I’m drowning in guilt! I wasn’t a good enough man to protect her. She saved my life over and over again—and I couldn’t even do the one thing I was supposed to do!!!

I came here to honor her. I couldn’t even do that!!

I’m a mess!
I’m broken!!
I’m nonfunctional!!

Good.
Good for you—for being honest.

A sharp pain explodes in his head. Every thought vanishes. The sound of the waterfall is a sledgehammer inside his skull now.

In blind desperation, he screams into the falls:

WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?
WHAT HAPPENED?!
WHERE ARE YOU?!

This time, he didn’t care who was watching. He gathered everything he’d brought and started back down the path. His head was throbbing—he needed to get away. He realized how dry his mouth was. He’d bought coffee, but no water.

As he passed the caravan café, he stopped. Asked for a bottle of water.

The girl at the counter looked like she was about to say something—then thought better of it. Then changed her mind.

“Uh… rough day, I guess,” she said hesitantly. “I mean… your voice.”

Mike nodded.

“Yeah... Um.. Sorry for shouting.” After a brief pause, he added, “I thought something else might happen when I came here. You know… some kind of revelation.”

She nodded, understanding. She hadn’t caught every word, but she understood what he meant.

“A lot of people come here,” she said. “Usually with expectations like that.” She shrugged. “Most of them leave a little disappointed.”

Mike took the bottle, twisted the cap—but didn’t drink yet.

“This place,” the girl continued, “it promises a lot. But sometimes it just makes things more unsettling. Especially when it’s crowded.”

“What do you mean?” Mike asked, before he could stop himself.

She shrugged again.

“I don’t know. If it were me… I’d go to Háifoss. It’s usually quieter. Less people.”

“A triple waterfall?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Not really. I mean—if you look from a certain angle, you might see three streams flowing differently. But it’s not like this. Not clearly.”

Mike nodded.

“I see. Triple waterfalls matter to me—personally—but… thank you.”

“Of course,” she said. “It’s up to you. I’m just saying—I’ve worked here four years, and I’ve seen a lot of people whose faces look like complete opposites when they arrive and when they leave. Just friendly advice. We don’t even have a stand out there or anything."

This time, Mike drank the water.

“Háifoss,” he murmured.

“Good luck,” the girl said.

“Thank you, have a nice day.”

He was going to go there.

Not because the girl had convinced him. Not because he wanted to add another detour. He was going because of a feeling—one he hadn’t had on the way here. Something different. A connection. A warmth.

Inside him, he felt the lights turning back on.

He practically ran to the car. He needed to get back to the hotel, figure out how to reach Háifoss, and—wherever it was—go there tomorrow.

He hit the gas and headed straight for the hotel.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t move.

Am I dead? he asked himself. Is this what death feels like?

He tried to open his eyes.

They refused to cooperate, as if determined to stay shut. I guess I really am dead, he thought.

Feel.

He began to sense his surroundings—warmth, something covering him. Blanket? Yeah. He tried to gather his scattered memories, to remember where he was. A dull ache pulsed in his head, followed by a sharper pain in his right shoulder… The ringing in his ears made it hard to focus. Where was he? What had happened?

He tried to open his eyes again. The light stabbed at them, lightning flashing through his brain. He shut them quickly. There was no one around. The room was quiet.

Was he really dead?

He wasn’t. Probably…

Would they cover a dead body with a blanket?

That didn’t sound right.  Had there been a car accident?

His mind started moving backward, replaying events in reverse. Yes—when he reached far enough back, fragments began to return.

After his disastrous failure at Kirkjufellsfoss, he’d returned to his hotel and asked the front desk how to get to Háifoss.
The woman at reception told him Háifoss was pretty much the opposite direction from Grundarfjörður.. She pointed it out on the map in his hand and said, “You’d need to go to Reykjavík first, and then from there to Háifoss. But you should know—it’s a six to seven hour drive. There aren’t hotels there like there are here. Only locals live in that area. I’m just saying, in case you’d need somewhere to stay.”

No problem. If he had to, he’d leave right now.

It was 2:47 p.m.
If he reached Reykjavík in four hours, he could stay the night there and make it to Háifoss in about three hours the next morning. Or—if he didn’t want to waste the day—he could sleep a little here and then drive straight through, arriving there by morning after seven hours on the road.

Don’t be ridiculous, Mike. You don’t know the roads, and it’s freezing out there.

I know, I know—but time is slipping away. You do realize I’m going back in two days, right?

Then delay the flight. Or buy a new ticket. You know you can stay here for up to ninety days. And for God’s sake, Mike—you’re a well-known writer. If it comes to it, you can afford a new ticket.

It made sense. Jane had the entire week off from school. If there was an issue, he could call Hawkins, let them know, and that would be that.
So he checked out, fully aware that although he had paid for four nights—and that two of those nights would go to waste—and got into his car, heading toward Reykjavík.

By the time the clock read 7:00 p.m., he arrived in Reykjavík. He ate, then checked into a hotel for the night. Sitting on the bed, he propped Mr. Traveler against the pillow.

He hadn’t taken a single photograph that day.
In fact, he hadn’t really done anything at all.

It was supposed to be a peaceful day. He would put his longing into words, think through the story, find a reasonable ending—and ta-da! He’d return to the hotel, write the book, go out to watch the Northern Lights, and take countless photos. And when it was time to leave, he would return home with the pride of a man who had completed his task—reunite with his daughter, and plan what came next for them.

But—

But he couldn’t.

The things he had been running from, the fire of unfinished reckonings inside him, kept him from thinking clearly and took hold of him again. The excuses he hid behind were meaningless. There was only one truth:

He was looking for El.
He was looking for El in places he had never known.

If anyone heard him say that out loud, they’d drag him to therapy —and maybe somewhere with locked doors.”

Because—really—think about it...

A man who lost his girlfriend ten years ago goes chasing waterfalls under the excuse of writer’s block—when in truth, his real purpose is to find her.
It sounds insane.

But Mike had no other way to keep going.

Still, no one would understand him.

The moment Nancy learned the truth, that familiar look of pity would flicker across her face first. “Oh, Mike…” she’d say, soft with sympathy—and then she’d get angry. Angry because she’d see what she’d been seeing for years now: her little brother slowly devouring himself, going nowhere, unable to move forward even an inch.

When Hopper found out, he’d rub his face and mutter, “Jesus, kid…” trying to pull his thoughts together into something reasonable—but he wouldn’t manage it. Somewhere along the way, frustration would take over. Because Hopper knew exactly what it means not to let go. He spent years tearing himself apart, missing out on life. He wants the past to carry us into the future as something gentle—as memories that warm us, not chains that hold us in place. And when he realizes that Mike is still stuck ten years back, repeating the very same mistakes he once made, it would make him angry. Angry at the lost time. At everything that can’t be taken back.

But they wouldn’t understand.

They wouldn’t understand that everything Mike believes he has built, everything he thinks he has moved on to, still revolves around El. They wouldn’t understand what it feels like to see El’s doe-like eyes every single time he looks into his daughter’s. They wouldn’t understand what it means for the same person to be both the reason you want to live—and the reason you want to die.

And he wasn’t expecting them to.

That was why he kept finding excuses to go.

So Jane could see the Northern Lights. Or spend a beautiful summer day visiting waterfalls and ancient cities in Turkey. We’re father and daughter, we love Star Wars—come on, let’s go to Tunisia and see the real filming location of Tatooine.
Or, I need calm water and greenery for the book—let’s go to Italy, to Lake Como…

Everywhere he went, his eyes searched for her.

In the peaceful roar of waterfalls. In the rustling of trees. In the middle of the desert sand.

There was nothing he could do about it.
She lived inside him; and for her, he lived on. And he had sworn to carry them both for the rest of his life.

He let out a deep breath. That strange nausea—the kind that comes from realizing you haven’t resolved anything at all—settled in his stomach. He reached for his wallet and took out the photograph he kept inside.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

There was nothing else he could say.

Mike Wheeler—a writer, a storyteller—couldn’t find his words that night. He set his alarm early, turned off the lights, and lay down quietly, falling asleep with the photograph pressed to his heart.

“…I love you for exactly who you are.
You’re my superhero.
And…
I can’t lose you.”

“I can’t lose you.”
“I can’t lose you.”

He was back at Kirkjufellsfoss.

The air was cool, but pleasant. The waterfall was loud, water spraying everywhere. El was beside him—smiling. Her hair was much longer than he remembered. She was wearing a purple coat. Her face looked more mature than in his old dreams—this was a grown El standing with him.

“Look,” El said, pointing at the waterfall. “Three.”

Mike laughed. “Yeah. I was right. They really are there.”

She looked at him. “You said you’d bring me here.”

“I did,” Mike said. “I was late, but—”

“I don’t care, Mike,” she said. “We’re here.”

They sat down right in front of the waterfall.

Mike looked around—it felt like a garden of paradise—unreal, untouched. Then turned back to her.

“Is this…” he asked, “a dream?”

El didn’t answer. She just held his gaze for a long moment and smiled. Mike thought he might pass out.

She rested her head against his shoulder. Her hair brushed his face; it carried a familiar scent.

Instinctively, Mike wrapped an arm around her and pulled her a little closer. He held her with one arm—unhurried, as if there were no need to let go. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and drew in her scent with a slow, steady breath. His heart began to slow.

“Then I don’t want to wake up,” he murmured, his voice lost in her hair.

El still didn’t answer. She reached up and held the hand draped over Mike’s shoulder. Her fingers were warm.

They watched the waterfall together. The water kept flowing, endlessly.

In that moment, nothing hurt.

Mike closed his eyes, at peace.

On an ordinary day, his eyelids would have resisted opening. This time, they sprang open at once.

For a while, he didn’t even move his head. He stared straight ahead, studying the window. Light seeped in from beneath the drawn curtains. There was no emotion in his eyes —just distance. It had been a peaceful dream, but…

It was a dream.

Just like the ones before it. Just like the ones yet to come.

The photograph was still pressed to his chest. He lifted it to eye level and studied it. He traced the innocent face and the smile of the woman he loved—the woman who had chosen kindness despite having the power to destroy the world. He pressed a soft, gentle kiss to the photograph.

Then he got up and slipped it back into its place in his wallet.

Once he fully gathered himself, he headed down to the lobby to find somewhere to have breakfast and to take care of the checkout.

He ate breakfast—a sandwich and tea—then got into his car and studied the detailed map of Reykjavík and its surroundings. Taking into account the directions he’d been given at the front desk, he set off toward Háifoss.

As he drove farther toward Háifoss, he noticed the settlements thinning out. First, the large centers gave way to small town hubs; then even those were replaced by small settlements. Soon after, there were hardly any signs of habitation at all—just a house or two, scattered far apart.

He reached the intersection the woman at reception had mentioned and turned onto the side road. Not long after, he spotted the sign she’d told him about and knew he’d arrived. When he rolled the windows down, he could already hear the sound of the waterfalls.

He saw an off-road SUV and parked nearby. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he started up the long mountain path that would lead him to the falls.

The wind was strong enough to make his ears ache, so he pulled his beanie down tight over them. As he climbed, his mind drifted to what would come next once he returned. After the book was finished, there would be meetings with his editor—but until the book was released, he’d have nothing but time.

He hated this stretch.
For most people, free time was a rare gift. For Mike, it meant being left alone with his thoughts.

He sighed.

Stopping for a moment, he looked back at the ground he’d already covered, then ahead at what still remained. He watched the single stream of the waterfall pouring down. Remembering that he might forget again once he reached the top, he leaned Mr. Traveler against a slightly protruding rock and took a photo of him with the waterfall behind him.

Relieved, like he’d kept a vow, he murmured, “Alright then, Mr. Traveler. Let’s go” clipped him back onto his bag, and continued on.

The closer he got to his destination, the more he noticed his steps quickening. When he finally reached the flat ground, he drew a deep breath. Looking around, he saw only one person sitting and watching the waterfalls. There was none of the crowd he’d seen at Kirkjufellsfoss.

The girl at the caravan café had been right—this place really did feel like the capital of peace.

He started walking toward the waterfall, awestruck. He didn’t want to disturb the hooded figure sitting there, shoulders slumped—he wouldn’t have wanted to be disturbed himself.

His intention had been to move far enough to see both streams of the waterfall.
But then—something stirred inside him. A feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time.
A flicker of hope. A sudden racing of his heart. A familiar warmth.

When the signals from his heart reached his brain, his eyes began to burn. All at once, his body flooded with sensations; signals firing everywhere at the same time. His brain couldn’t decide which one to process—and finally, it hit the panic button.

Chaos erupted inside him. His senses were working like machines, firing relentlessly—but Mike only had one brain, and it was nowhere near enough.

His eyes found the hooded figure.

The hooded figure was no longer sitting with slumped shoulders.
Now—perfectly straight. Utterly still.

Slowly—almost impossibly slowly—the hooded person turned, looking at Mike over their left shoulder.

And Mike’s brain shut down.

The signals stopped.

As the world darkened before his eyes, a single word left his lips:

“El-”

Chapter Text

His brain feels like it’s splitting open—especially the right side of his head, where the pain is unbearable. He tries to open his eyes. Open. Please, just open.
When he tries, a brutally bright light assaults him, and lightning fractures through his mind.

He listens. There is no one.

He tries to make a sound, to let whoever might be there know that he exists—useless. He tries to speak, but isn’t even sure his mouth moves. He swallows.

That’s it. The only physical action he manages to complete.

At least his brain is still there.
He had been almost sure it had packed its bags and left—but apparently, it hadn’t.

It isn’t very good at carrying out commands right now; only his instincts still work.
Better than nothing.

He hears the door open with a faint creak.
He can feel it now—he’s no longer alone.

His pulse spikes, but it’s not like it was at the waterfall. He tries to speak again, but the only thing that escapes him is a whimper torn from pain. The door creaks once more. And now—he knows—he’s alone again. The door has closed.

He doesn’t remember how much time passes. His head hurts beyond reason, numb and throbbing.
Then he hears the door open again.

He’s not alone.

This time, his heart is racing.
The feeling from the waterfall comes rushing back.

She’s here.

Or he’s dead.
Or he’s completely lost his mind.

At the moment, he has no way of deciding which of those would be better.

Like the first one, she stands in the doorway for a moment. He doesn’t see her move—he hears it. One step forward, and his pulse doubles, his heartbeat thundering loud enough to fill the entire room.

He tries to speak. Again, the only sound he manages is a whimper.

As if hammers are slamming into his brain, he tries once more to open his eyes. The pain flares again, sharp and blinding—and judging by the quick footsteps now rushing toward him, his face must have twisted into something visibly unbearable.

Those footsteps pull at something.
Fabric.
A curtain? Did she close the curtain?

Great.

Now he can feel her to his right. He tries again to open his eyes.

Yes. The light is low now—just a dim glow.

Thank God.

This time, he manages to open them a little. Not both—just one. But it’s enough. It has to be.

He needs to see her.

He turns his eye to the right and—

Oh God.
It’s her.

Is this real?
Or is he dreaming?

The chances are way too high.

His head hurts like hell. He must’ve smashed it against the rocks—died—and now Death has come for him, wearing the most beautiful face he knows.

Or he’s having a brain hemorrhage. There was no one around anyway. Just that hooded figure—and that had to be a hallucination. Of course it was.
It’s over.

They’re not going to find him.
He won’t even have a grave.

No one will know where he was. He’ll stay here until someone stumbles upon his rotting body.

He left Jane without a father.

He promised. He promised he’d always be there, that he’d protect her—and three years later, he leaves his daughter behind.

What kind of father are you, Michael?
What kind of man?

Do you have any idea how much your little girl is going to hurt now?

You’re dead.
Bravo.

Stop being such a fucking drama queen. You’re not dead.

So what—am I still clinging to life?
Great. More pain.

I deserve it.
I deserve all of this.

Michael Wheeler.
You’re not dying.

Look at the signs.
Feel!

He feels it.

He knows this feeling.

So then—
Is she here?

She's here, Mike. Here.

Here.

HERE.

Right beside you.

His breathing spirals out of control—fast, ragged, disastrous—but fuck it. Who cares.

She’s here.
He found her.
She’s here.

Oh God.
OH, GOD!

His vision sharpens, finally locking onto her.

She’s looking at him too.

Her eyes are wet.

She looks different. Not like any version of her he ever imagined.

Oh God—she’s really here.

He tries to speak.

Come on. Just try. Say something.

Do it, Mike. Say anything. She’s here.

He wants to speak. He really does.
But the thing he wants to say—to the person he wants to say it to—he hasn’t truly said out loud in ten years.

His tongue refuses. A defense mechanism.

Fuck that mechanism.
Talk.

He gathers every scrap of strength he has left.

“El?”

A long silence.

She lowers her head, closes her eyes—as if she needs a moment to absorb hearing her name. Then she lifts her head again. Her eyes are still closed. She tries to speak, draws a deep breath, and finally opens them, meeting his gaze.

“Mike?”

Oh God. His heart is going to explode. Everything feels too real.

He needs to know if this is real.
So, riding the surge of adrenaline, he asks the question:

“D-did you… t-take me… w-with you?”

She freezes.

There’s an expression on her face he can’t name. She looks like she doesn’t know how to answer—not because she’s unsure, but because she genuinely doesn’t know.

She doesn’t know.
She really doesn’t.

She doesn’t know about your begging.
She didn’t take you with her. She didn’t go either.

In his dreams, she always answered this question.
Now she doesn’t.

Wake up, Mike. Get a grip.
She’s here. And you’re not dead.

He has to know.

“Am I dead?”

She shakes her head.

“No. You just passed out and hit your head really hard on the rock. You’re not dead, Mike—just a little hurt.”

The way she said his name.
God.
Say it again.

“So… you’re not…"

“No…”

She said it barely above a whisper—but she said it. She said it.

Mike swallows.

“How did you—”

He tries to sit up.

He realizes instantly that this is the worst decision of his life, because his head and his stomach join forces, and the dizzy–nausea combo takes center stage like, “surprise, motherfucker.”

The moment he rises, he’s already going down again.

The back of his neck is on fire.

Her hand—
on his neck—
helping him lie back down.

If he hasn’t died yet, he’s certain he’s about to, because for the love of God—his heart.
It’s seconds away from exploding.

Adrenaline snaps both of his eyes fully open.

Now he can see her more clearly.

An adult woman.
Her hair is blonde now—long, much longer than he remembers, no longer the color he remembers her with.

But her eyes…

Those eyes.

The doe eyes he used to get lost in.

They’re looking at him now, filled with tears.

He hears the door open and turns his head toward it.

A man about his age leans into the doorway, glances first at El, then at Mike, and gives a brief nod to him. Turning back to El, he asks with a polite smile,

“Er hann í lagi?”

Mike, of course, doesn’t understand a word—but he hears El nod as she answers,

“Já… hann er í lagi, en hann er með verki og honum svimar.”

The man at the door replies,

“Skil. Er eitthvað sem ég get gert?”

“Nei, ekkert. Takk fyrir,” El said, smiling.

The man nods again.

“Ekkert að þakka. Láttu mig vita ef ég get hjálpað.”

He smiles once more, then closes the door behind him, leaving them alone.

Mike hasn’t understood any of it.

But El’s Icelandic is flawless.

Now she’s sitting there again, her head lowered.

There’s an unspoken tension in the room—something without a name, heavy enough to keep him from moving.

Was this what ten years did to people?

He’d been scripting this day in his head for ten years.

As the years passed after El left, the script kept changing. During the anger stage of grief, he’d imagined yelling at her—standing face to face, shouting all the things he’d never gotten to say. He’d find her, hug her first, and then get angry at her for leaving.

Later on, as time dragged forward and Mike remained a man who couldn’t move on, the late-night hours—fueled by alcohol—turned those reunions into things that crossed into outright obscenity.

But, generally, the core of the fantasy stayed the same: finding her, holding her, and crying.
Holding her for as long as it took. Making sure she was really there. Not letting go.

And now—he couldn’t do any of it.

He was injured. His head felt like it was splitting apart. And worse—he’d lost the ability to speak. His brain was working like a machine, but for the first time, his mouth couldn’t keep up with it.

This looked nothing like any of the versions he’d been carrying for ten years.

And who the fuck was that man at the door?

Her husband?
The father of her children?
Her boyfriend?

Oh God. He was pathetic.

He feels her looking at him. He looks back at her. When their eyes meet, his pulse spikes even higher.

He needs to say something.

Talk, Mike.

“You okay?” Mike said.

Good start. Well done.

“I’m okay,” El said. Then she adds, “And you?”

“As you can see,” he replies with a smile—and he could swear the corner of her mouth curves, just a little.

You used to make her laugh so easily. You could say anything—even just “A”—and she’d laugh.

Ask how she survived.
Ask what she’s been doing.
Ask about the man.

Ask why she never sent word.
Oh God—does she still wear the ring you gave her? Can you see it? I can’t see it.
Whatever. Ask how she got here. Ask if she gave up on you.

Ask about the man.
Did I mention the man? Ask about the man. You don’t get to take a single step forward until you know what his role is.

Ask something.
Say something.

“I—” he said.

Actually...
He shouts.

El flinches. Mike’s eyes go wide.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I—I just… I have too many questions in my head. I can’t shut it off.”

“Yes,” El said gently. “I understand. It’s normal to have questions. I understand.”

And just like that, silence settles in again.

El looks out the window, then lowers her head. She’s thinking. Mike watches her.

When she lifts her gaze and meets his, there’s worry in her eyes now.

“H-how did you find me… here?”
Her voice is already speeding up. “Tell me the truth, Mike. Please. Are they... after me? Are you—are you here alone?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer.

“Who knows you’re here? Who knows I’m here? How did-did you find me? Am I never... going to be safe—what am I supposed to do now?”

Her words trip over each other. Her eyes fill.

“I built a life,” she said, breath catching. “From nothing. Far away from everything. From everyone. Was that not enough? Did even that fail?”

Mike shakes his head fast—too fast. The room tilts violently. He squeezes his eyes shut, waits for the nausea to pass.

“No,” he said, forcing steadiness. “No, El. No one is looking for you. No one will.”

He takes a breath. Another.

“The Soviets collapsed,” he continues, slower now. “The war’s over. The experiments—ended. They saw you leave. All of us said the same thing. After a while… they stopped coming. Stopped checking.”

His voice drops.

“Hopper became chief again.”

Another pause.

“In the records…”
His voice turns almost inaudible.
“…you’re listed as dead.”

She exhales sharply, like she’s been underwater too long.

“That’s good,” she whispers. “That’s good.”

Then—still shaking—

“But you,” she said. “How did you find me? I tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t. I stopped watching you in the void. I really did. I stopped. So how?”

Mike rubs his face, drags his hand down, fingers catching in his beard.

“Honestly, El…”
He exhales through his nose. “I wasn’t trying to.”

“I didn’t come here looking for you.”

He hesitates. Because...

A lie.
A lie.
All of it.

He was looking for her everywhere he went.
But he couldn’t say that.

Saying it out loud would be the same as telling Nancy.
Or Hopper...

“I became a writer. And I got stuck. The ending—I couldn’t write it. Nothing worked.” He swallows. “So I started visiting waterfalls. Thought maybe I’d… feel something again.”

“Ones with three falls. Like we talked about.”

“That’s why I was here. I went to—Kirkju… foss… fell? Kirkjufellsfoss. Whatever. I went there.”

He gives a faint, humorless breath.

“I didn’t find what I was looking for.”

“The girl at the café told me about this place. Said it was quiet. Said people didn’t come here much.”

“So I came.”

His eyes meet hers now.

“And then I felt you.”

A beat.

He steadies himself, voice firm despite the pain.

“No one knows about you. No one’s coming. I swear it.”

“You’re safe, El.”

El nods. She looks a little calmer now.

A knock sounds at the door, and the man appears again. He’s holding a tray—there’s a bowl on it, some bread, and a glass of water.

Looking at El, he said,

“Ég hugsaði að honum myndi líða betur ef hann drykki smá supu.”

“Takk, Stefán. Ég er virkilega þakklát,” El replies, pulling the small table from the corner closer to Mike.

She takes the tray from the man—now, Mike realizes, Stefán—and smiles at him. He smiles back at both of them, then leaves the room.

Mike has a decent guess at what just happened. Still, he needs to confirm it.

“Is he…”
His voice catches.
“Is he your… husband?”

El lowers her eyes to the tray. She can’t look at Mike.

“He wants to be,” she said.

Mike gives a small nod.

He suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be here.

At the same time, anger flares somewhere deep in his chest.

Get a grip.
Didn’t you say it yourself? All that matters is that she’s okay.

You got this chance.
You found her.
You get to see her.

Stay calm.

But Mike doesn’t continue.
He refuses to.

How long did it take her to forget him?
Nine years?
Six?
One?

Mike had never forgotten her. He hadn’t been able to move on. For years—despite everything—he’d stayed loyal to her.

His stomach tightens painfully. He can’t stop it. He draws in slow, deep breaths. The discomfort must be written all over his face, because El suddenly grows more tense.

She moves to help him sit up.

The moment her hands touch him, Mike feels like he’s burning alive.

If he hasn’t died yet, then this—this is definitely going to do it.

With her help, he leans back, then murmurs a quiet thank you. El sets the tray down on his lap.

Fish soup.

He tried it the night he arrived. It was good.

His hands shake as he dips the spoon into the bowl. He concentrates hard, trying not to spill it, and manages to swallow the first spoonful. His eyes keep flicking between El and the soup. He’s tense.

Too tense.

“So... what do you want?” he asks, his voice tight.

El fidgets with her hands.
“I don’t know,” she said.

Mike feels something crack in his chest.

I don’t know.

Stay calm, Mike.

“What matters is…” He hesitates. “That you’re okay. Of course.”

“I am,” she replies.

The words they exchange exist only to keep the silence from swallowing them whole.
Both of them are carrying entire sentences, entire years—but nothing comes out right.

El stands.

“Finish your soup,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “I’ll be right back.”

She’s almost at the door when Mike speaks.

“Do you love him?”

The question lands wrong.
Too sharp. Too fast. Too angry.Not the way he meant it—but exactly the way it sounds.

El freezes. 

Then she turns.

Her eyebrows draw together, her face tightening in disbelief. Mike feels something cold settle in his chest, but he doesn’t look away.

“Are you interrogating me?” she asks. Her voice is low, stunned—and then it hardens. “Do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?”

She takes a step closer, eyes wide now, burning.

“While that is there?”

Her gaze flicks downward, just briefly—toward Mike’s body—her hand lifting in a small, sharp gesture he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t get to ask me that,” she said, her voice shaking now, with anger.

She turns and slams the door behind her.

The sound echoes.

Mike stares at the door.

“While that is there?”

The words echo, hollow and loud.

What did she mean?

His pulse pounds. He swallows, his thoughts struggling to catch up. He looks at himself—his chest, his clothes, his hands.

Nothing.

He exhales, frustrated, almost angry at himself.

Then—slower now—his gaze drifts lower.

Down his arm.

To his hand.

To his left hand.

To his ring finger.

The gold catches the light.

For a second, his brain refuses to connect the dots.

And then it does.

All at once.

Oh...

She’d meant the ring.

The one Mike had engraved with both of their names.  
The one that had kept most women away from him.

She thought—

Mike closes his eyes.

El had misunderstood everything.

Chapter Text

They were there again. The waterfalls.

Those ancient falls—the ones she had cried into for ten years, pouring out her grief, her longing, her dreams; the ones where memories replayed themselves whether she wanted them to or not.

She never stopped coming back. Of the name she had abandoned ten years ago, of the person she truly was, of the life she once imagined, of the one who made her imagine it—this was all that remained.

She found the rock where she always sat. With her hand, she brushed away the dew that had settled on its surface. When she sat down and faced the waterfalls, she already knew which memory would rise to meet her. There was no changing it. She had accepted that long ago. Accepting her fate, she sat on the rock.

“But I don’t. I don’t understand.”

“I know… But you will. One day, you will. You understand me—better than anyone. You always have.”

“Please don’t leave me, El. Please don’t do this.”

“I will always be with you.
I love you.”

“Goodbye, Mike.”

This memory—the ghost of the past—never left her.
Not for ten long years. And El had accepted it now: it never would.

What she did—this thing she chose—was cruel.
Unforgiving.

So which was more cruel: her… or Papa or Dr. Kay?

Not their kind of cruelty. El would never place herself among them. She knows where she stands—on the side of mercy. But hers is a different kind of cruelty.

The kind done so that the man she loves can live.

Never like Papa or Kay’. El is not an abuser. She is not someone who imprisoned a little girl for twelve years, then condemned her to a lifetime of hell afterward. Never.

She is only someone who loves fiercely—and who is willing to protect the people she loves, no matter the cost.

“It’s a fantasy, Jane.
If you run away with Mike, maybe you’ll be safe for a while.
But when they find you—and they will—
they’ll kill Mike.”

No.
She would never allow anything to happen to Mike. Never—especially not because of her.

After the misunderstanding in Lenora, they had both become certain of one thing: their love for each other was real. Unshakable. But knowing that came with a price. Mike loved her. Deeply. Too deeply.

For someone living a normal life, that kind of love meant everything.
But for someone who didn’t…

That was the hard part.
The dangerous part.

El had been many things in her life: a subject, a soldier, a weapon, a project, a number, a monster.
Then the titles began to change—slowly: a friend, a daughter, a girlfriend.

But one thing never changed: the line El walked.

Between the things she was forced to do and the things she chose to do with fierce devotion, she never surrendered her place. She did not surrender it when they ordered her to kill the cat in the lab. She did not surrender it when she stood in front of her friends and took the hit meant for them.

She was powerful.
God, she was powerful.

But as she had read in the comic books the Party brought her, power always came with a cost. It always did. El had paid that cost for years.

And she was still paying.

For Mike.
For Hopper.
For the Party.

For their safety.
But most of all—for Mike.

For him to live.

Yes… we had arrived at that point, hadn’t we?

Love is a beautiful thing—especially when it’s mutual. Caring, being cared for, makes everything feel worthwhile. For someone living a normal life, it means everything. But for someone who doesn’t live a normal life?

It has many names: trouble, darkness, loneliness.

But for what exists between her and Mike, it means something else entirely:

Death.

She wouldn’t survive that hell—
the one where she and Mike ran, only for the military to find them, kill Mike, and use her blood to make new numbers.
She had seen that vile nightmare over and over again: Mike dying right in front of her eyes.

She loved him.
She loved him so much that she gave up every feeling that ever made her feel good.
She loved him so much that she gave up the family she had found. Gave up her home.

She still loved him.

He would be okay.
Yes, he had been hurt. She had seen him hurt—shattered—more times than she could count. She had seen him give up on himself, too.
Every time, she wanted to tell him: Don’t do this. I’m here. I’m not dead, Mike. I can’t be with you, but I’m alive.

She wanted to—truly. But she couldn’t.

Because her boyfriend was impossibly stubborn.

When Mike set his mind on something, he followed it through. He had called out to her for 353 days and found her in the middle of a desert. He had never given up on her. And he never would. The moment he knew she was alive, he would do more than everything he could to reach her.

Because that was who Mike Wheeler was.

He cared about the people he loved. He would do anything to keep them safe—even jump into a quarry so his friend wouldn’t lose his teeth.

That was why she let him believe she was dead.

On special days. On stormy nights. In those fragile moments when she thought she might meet Mike again in the morning—she always said the same thing:

For him to live.

For him to live, she chose loneliness. Pain. Suffering.
As long as it did not bring death.

Was that what love was?

Yes.
It was.

The damp wind made her shiver. She pulled her hood tighter around herself. She began to listen to the wild roar of the waterfalls. The sound did two things at once—it soothed her, and it frightened her.

She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing.

A sharp blow struck her chest—her heart. Her skin prickled, every hair standing on end. Her pulse spiked.

Danger?

No.

Something familiar.

The feeling that lifted her back to her feet, that sent tremors through her from head to toe, that filled her stomach with butterflies. Like standing on the porch on a summer day, watching him come around the final bend in the road—and catching that first glimpse of him. Like the first moment she opened her arms and found herself complete in his, as if key and lock finally met. Like hearing his voice rise above a room full of noise when he began to speak. Like sitting beside him while they watched Star Wars V, and seeing—every single time—the same excitement flicker across his face during the Darth Vader and Luke scene.

To feel whole.

Her heart was pounding so violently her mind failed to keep up, unable to obey its own commands. She was afraid to turn around. Seeing the source of that feeling—or not seeing it—felt equally unbearable.

Her eyes burned. And before she could stop it, tears welled up and traced their own path down her cheeks.

Her mind, stripped of reason, issued a sudden command:

Look behind you.

She turned, glancing back over her left shoulder—

…Him.

Her mind couldn’t catch up. It kept tolling the same bells, over and over again: He’s here. Mike is here.

The pull between them bound their eyes together. The waterfalls fell silent, reduced to a distant hum. The wind lost its authority. The world narrowed, thinning to a single point where only the two of them existed.

And then—something tore.

Not sound.
Not sight.

The thread between them snapped.

Mike faltered. As his balance gave way and his body started to collapse, he forced a name from his lips with the last of his strength—the name she hadn’t heard in ten years, except in dreams and in emptiness. Spoken in its truest rhythm.

“El.”

She watched him collapse—and in that instant, she came back to herself. Without thinking, she ran to him. She turned him onto his back. There was a deep wound on the right side of his head.

She shook him.

“Mike! Mike!! Open your eyes—please, open your eyes! Mike, please!”

She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her hoodie and pressed it hard against the wound. She tried to lift him, but she couldn’t.

She needed help.

She grabbed her phone and called the one person she trusted to come—fast

“Stefán? Geturðu vinsamlegast komið að fossinum? Ég þarf á hjálp þinni að halda. Þetta er neyð! Vinsamlegast komdu.”
(Stefan? Please, can you come to the waterfall? I need your help. This is an emergency. Please come.)

She didn’t even hear what Stefán said in response. All her focus was on the man in front of her -A beanie pulled down over his head, a backpack slung over his shoulders, his face older than she remembered, covered in a beard.

She couldn’t breathe. She felt the tears come harder, faster. Her body shook as she began to cry. As the reality of what was happening slowly struck her, she screamed toward the waterfall and cried.

She cried for everything she had buried inside herself for years.

The box had been opened.

Everything she had run from—everyone—hit her all at once. The reality that the man she had given up everything for was here, right in front of her, and hurt—

that reality crashed into her.

She didn’t know how many minutes she cried. She came back to herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at its owner—Stefán. He was watching her now, his eyes full of worry.

Hvað gerðist? Terry? Hey—Teresa?! Hvað gerðist? Hver er þessi maður? Ertu í lagi? Gerði hann þér eitthvað? Hvernig meiddist hann, Terry—hvað gerðist?
(What happened? Terry? Look at me. Hey—Teresa?! What happened? Who is this man? Are you okay? Did he do something to you? How did he get hurt, Terry—what happened?) he asked.

“Hann er slasaður. Hann datt og sló höfuðið. Hjálpaðu mér að fara með hann. Hjálpaðu mér að koma honum heim.”
(He’s injured. He fell and hit his head. Help me take him. Help me get him home.) she said.

Stefán didn’t understand everything that was happening—but if there was one thing he had learned about this woman over the years, it was not to ask too many questions. He placed his hand on the top of her head and pulled her gently toward him, pressing a quick, supportive kiss to her temple.

“Hafðu engar áhyggjur. Hann verður í lagi—förum með hann.”
(Don’t worry. He’ll be okay—let’s take him.) Stefán said.

At the same time, he stood up and lifted Mike by the arms, pulling him onto his back. El grabbed her backpack and quickly scanned the area, making sure nothing had been dropped. They placed Mike into the back seat of the large off-road vehicle.

El climbed into the back and sat beside Mike, resting his head on her knee. As they drove downhill in the vehicle Stefán had nicknamed the Monster, she spotted her own car—not a monster, but with potential, as Stefán liked to say—and another car parked beside it. She thought it must be Mike’s.

She couldn’t believe what had happened. She couldn’t believe that the head resting on her knee was his.

How?

How had he found her?
How had this happened?

Stefán drove as fast as he could, heading toward the house in the small town that faced the waterfalls. Questions filled his mind, of course. But he wouldn’t ask them now. He would trust her, do whatever was needed, and satisfy his curiosity later.

Just as he had done for the past ten years.

El appreciated that about him. When she had first arrived, he had been one of the first to support her. Back then, he had been a curious boy—but he knew his limits. Now he was a grown, strong man —typical hockey-player build, and he still knew them.

There was only one difference.

Stefán’s manner had grown more emotional. He had made his intentions toward El clear. He was a good man, but—

No matter if one year passed, or five, or ten—no matter that she had known Stefán longer than she had known Mike—her heart belonged entirely to the unconscious, injured man lying across her knees.

When they reached the house, Stefán lifted Mike onto his back once more and carried him to the room that had been prepared as a guest bedroom. He laid him down carefully, then looked up at El as she entered the room with her backpack still in her hand.

Stefán understood immediately that she didn’t want questions—not now. He reached out with his right hand, gave her right shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze, and quietly left the room.

Now they were in the same room. Just the two of them. Mike was still unconscious, lying exactly as Stefán had left him. El walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a blanket.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Stefán stepped inside.

“Hey!.. Ég kom með skyndihjálpartöskuna, við getum gert um sárið. Ég hringdi í Kristínu—hún er á leiðinni til að skoða hann.. Er eitthvað fleira sem ég get gert?”
(Hey!.. I brought the first-aid kit—we can dress the wound. I called Kristín—She’s on her way to take a look at him. Is there anything else I can do?) he said.

El shook her head.

“Þú hefur gert allt sem þú gast. Takk kærlega fyrir, Stef—ég er mjög þakklát.”
(You’ve done everything you could. Thank you so much, Stef—I’m very grateful.) she said.

Stefán gave her a small smile, cast one last glance at Mike, and left the room.

El stepped closer to Mike with the blanket in her hands and draped it over him. She removed his beanie and looked at his hair—short, curly, no longer the length she remembered. She swallowed the lump in her throat, opened the first-aid kit, and laid out the supplies.

As she began cleaning the wound, the adrenaline faded—and the questions rushed in.

How had he found her?
Who had helped him?
Who knew she was here?
Was she being watched?
A spy?

She cut that last thought off immediately. Even if someone had deceived him, made him promises—she believed with absolute certainty that he would never do anything that would put her safety at risk. She was angry at the voice in her head for even using the word spy.

When she finished dressing the wound on his head, she checked for any other injuries. As far as she could tell, there were none. She examined his hands as well—

and when she saw what was on his left hand, her heart clenched.

A ring.
A wedding ring.
A gold band on the ring finger of his left hand.

Yes—she had thought about this many times. Ten whole years had passed, and of course she had hoped that his life would go on. But hoping for something and seeing it with her own eyes were two very different things.

This time, she couldn’t swallow the lump in her throat. She ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath.

There was another knock at the door.

This time, it was Kristín.

Kristín was the second person El had met in Iceland, after Stefán. She had finished her medical training four months ago and had returned home for a short time. Now Kristín was examining the bandage El had applied, checking Mike with the limited resources she had.

With El’s help, they removed his coat. Kristín shone a light into his pupils, palpated the areas where he might have hit his head, and checked for any signs of injury.

“Hann virðist ekki vera með nein sýnileg meiðsl, en ef hann vaknar ekki fljótlega gætum við þurft að fara með hann á sjúkrahús. Ég mæli með að þú náir í fötu, því það er mjög líklegt að hann verði óglatt þegar hann vaknar. Ég mun skilja eftir nokkur lyf í eldhúsinu. Gefðu honum þau eftir að hann hefur borðað.
En Terry… hver er þessi maður? Er hann hættulegur? Gerði hann þér eitthvað? Hvernig gerðist þetta?”
(He doesn’t appear to have any visible injuries, but if he doesn’t wake up soon, we may need to take him to the hospital. I recommend getting a bucket, because it’s very likely he’ll feel nauseous when he wakes up. I’ll leave some medication in the kitchen. Give them to him after he’s eaten.
But Terry… who is this man? Is he dangerous? Did he do something to you? How did this happen?) Kristín asked, her tone probing.

“Nei. Hann er ekki slæmur maður. Einhver sem ég þekkti áður en ég kom hingað… Mike.
Og takk kærlega fyrir, Kristín. Ég er virkilega þakklát.”
(No. He’s not a bad man. Someone I knew before I came here… Mike.
And thank you so much, Kristín. I’m truly grateful.) El said, offering a small, shy smile.

“Mike? Mike sem þú varst að tala um? Mike kærastinn þinn? Ó guð minn, Terry… ég trúi þessu ekki! SEGÐU MÉR ALLT! Ó, ég trúi þessu ekki!”
(Mike? The Mike you were talking about? Your boyfriend, Mike? Oh my God, Terry… I can’t believe this! TELL ME EVERYTHING! Oh, I can’t believe it!) Kristín said excitedly, now practically bouncing in front of El with joy.

El smiled at her reaction without meaning to—but then the smile faded into something bitter.

“Sjáðu vinstri höndina á honum.”
(Look at his left hand.) she said.

The moment Kristín noticed the ring, she froze. The color drained from her face.

“Ó, Terry… mér þykir þetta svo leitt, elskan. Ég er svo, svo miður mín.”
(Oh, Terry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry.) she said softly.

“Það er allt í lagi. Tíu ár eru mjög langur tími.”
(It’s okay. Ten years is a very long time.) El said, her voice clipped.

As Kristín turned to leave—called away by Stefán—she squeezed El’s hand in a gesture of strength and comfort. El answered with a small curve of her lips.

She pulled a chair closer and sat beside Mike, watching the unconscious man. He was still very handsome. Adulthood had only made him more so. She studied his face. Everything that had happened over the past ten years passed before her eyes.

She had never truly believed she would see him again. Only in dreams—and even then, only if she was lucky. She could have gone to the void and looked, but there were things she was afraid of seeing there. Mike moving on was one of them.

The thought she’d had before Kristín arrived wrapped around her again. She glanced at the ring. Of course she had known he would move on—had to move on—at some point. They had been sixteen, after all, and Mike had always had a bright future ahead of him.

And he had reached it.

He had books. Yes—books that now sat on the shelves of her own library. The kind she read with an Icelandic–English dictionary at her side—though she’d read the second one without it. Still, El hadn’t been able to move on. She had always felt as though Mike were right there beside her.

Even though she knew he had every right to continue, the reality hurt. Right now, El felt irreversibly broken.

A loud noise—and a curse—from the kitchen pulled her to her feet. She left Mike alone in the room and headed out. In the kitchen just off the living room, she found Stefán wrestling with something. Every pot from the cupboard had been scattered across the floor, and he was trying to gather them while muttering curses.

El stepped closer.

“Hvað ertu að gera?”
(What are you doing?) she asked.

Stefán startled, then looked over his shoulder and laughed.

“Mamma hafði gert súpu, ég kom með hana en pottarnir byrjuðu að berja mig. Ég er að kvarta.”
(My mom made soup—I brought it over, but the pots started beating me up. I’m filing a complaint.) he said, grinning.

El nodded.

"Takk kærlega fyrir súpuna líka — mamma þín er virkilega númer eitt í þessu.”
(Thank you so much for the soup as well. Your mom is truly number one at this.) she said, then added,

“Og ég get aldrei þakkað þér nóg fyrir að koma strax þegar ég hringdi. Ég er þér mjög þakklát, Stef.”
(I can never thank you enough for coming the moment I called. I’m very grateful to you, Stef.)

“Ég myndi gera allt fyrir þig, Terry. Þú veist það.”
(I would do anything for you, Terry. You know that.) Stefán said, looking straight into her eyes.

El shifted uneasily.

“Stef… þú ættir að vita eitt…”
(Stef… there’s something you should know…) she began.

“Ég veit,” Stefán interrupted.
(I know.)

“Kristín sagði mér það. Ég veit hver hann er, og ég er ánægður, Terry. Ég er ánægður fyrir ykkur. Þetta er ekkert vandamál.”
(Kristín told me. I know who he is, and I’m happy, Terry. I’m happy for you both. It’s okay.) he added.

El nodded with a small smile. Still, the ring on Mike’s finger refused to leave her mind. To distract herself, she began arranging the pots. Meanwhile, Stefán went to check on Mike.

When he returned, El had already set the soup on the stove.

“Ég held að hann sé að koma til sín. Þegar ég fór inn hreyfði hann höfuðið aðeins og stundi. Ég held að hann muni vakna fljótlega.”
(I think he’s coming around. When I went in, he moved his head slightly and groaned. I think he’ll wake up soon.) Stefán said.

El nodded. She left the pot to Stefán and went to the bathroom to wash her hands and face. Then she walked back into the room where Mike was lying.

As she opened the door, despite the ache of hurt still lodged inside her, she felt a surge of excitement—at the thought of seeing him again. She steadied herself, forcing her breathing back to normal, then looked at Mike.

As she stepped inside, she heard him groan. She stood beside him now, watching. Mike was trying to open his eyes, but even the smallest movement of his eyelids made them fall shut again—pain written clearly across his face.

The daylight flooding the room was harsh. Too much, she thought—it had to be bothering him. She crossed the room quickly, drew the curtains shut, then turned on the bedside lamp that cast a soft, dim yellow glow.

She sat down on the chair beside him.

His face seemed more at ease now.

His right eye fluttered open.

And he looked at her.

They both froze.

El felt her hands go ice-cold. His breathing sped up—too fast. He was breathing far too quickly. He looked like he was trying to say something, and then—

“El?”

She lowered her head and closed her eyes.
The name she hadn’t heard in ten years—except in dreams and in her visits to the void. Her name, spoken from the lips of the love of her life.

How much she had missed it.

Here, she was Teresa—“Terry.” Until the moment he asked, she hadn’t even been aware of it. But the instant the question came, that name had slipped from her mouth. She didn’t regret it. Her mother was with her.

But this name…

The name the boy she loved had given her. The name she had defined herself by. It was precious. And to hear it, ten years later, from the one person she had never expected to see again—

it stirred something she couldn’t quite make sense of.

Beautiful.
But strange.

She lifted her head. Her eyes were still closed. She took a deep breath, then looked at him.

“Mike?”

Now it was his turn to feel something just as overwhelming. It showed in everything. His eyebrows lifted slightly, the corner of his mouth almost curved—as if he might smile.

And then, suddenly, his face froze.

“D-did you… t-take me… w-with you?”

El froze.
What? With her? Maybe she should call Kristín back. Maybe they really needed to go to the hospital.

Mike spoke again.

“Am I dead?”

Oh.

Now she understood. He thought she was dead—had thought so for years—and seeing her now, all at once, his mind had leapt to the only explanation it could grasp. This wasn’t a normal reunion. She was right.

She shook her head slowly.

“No. You just passed out and hit your head very badly on the rock. You’re not dead, Mike. You’re just hurt,” El said gently.

Mike’s pupil in his open eye dilated.

"So… you’re not…" he asked.

No. I’m not dead, Mike. And neither are you

“No,” El answered in a murmur. Ten years like that could hardly be called living—but yes, technically, she hadn’t died.

Mike tried to sit up too quickly. A terrible decision. His balance failed him; he clutched his head, nausea washing over his face. El sprang forward, supporting the back of his neck so he wouldn’t hit his head again. She helped him lie back down.

Her hand burned where it touched him.

As soon as he was settled, she pulled her hand away. That sudden movement—up, then down—had forced both his eyes open now. Their gazes met.

He couldn’t look away. He studied her.
She studied him.

Neither of them was the same as when they had last let go of each other. Time had given them much—and taken just as much away.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Don’t cry, El. Don’t you dare cry.

When the door opened, she turned her head toward it. Stefán looked at El first, then at Mike, giving him a small nod of greeting. He turned back to El and asked with a smile,

“Er hann í lagi?”
(Is he okay?)

El nodded.

“Já… hann er í lagi, en hann er með verki og honum svimar.”
(Yes… he’s okay, but he’s in pain and feeling dizzy.) she said.

Stefán nodded in understanding.

“Skil. Er eitthvað sem ég get gert?”
(I see. Is there anything I can do?) he asked.

“Nei, ekkert. Takk fyrir.”
(No, nothing. Thank you.) El replied with a small smile.

Stefán nodded again.

“Ekkert að þakka. Láttu mig vita ef ég get hjálpað.”
(No need to thank me. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.) He smiled at El once more, then closed the door, leaving them alone.

El stole a brief glance at Mike. He clearly hadn’t understood a word of what was said—but he looked tense. She couldn’t blame him. She felt terribly tense herself.

Neither of them knew what to say.

El lowered her head again. There was an unspoken tension hanging in the room, thick and heavy. In dreams, this had always been easier. Why was it so hard now?

Damn the years, El thought.

She couldn’t stop looking at him. Him being there—
it felt like a dream. Completely, unmistakably a dream.

Now he was looking at her too. He seemed like he wanted to say something.

She gave him time.

“You okay?” Mike asked.

“I’m okay,” El said. “And you?” she added.

“As you can see,” he replied with a smile. El smiled back—for a heartbeat. Then she stopped herself.

Why?

Why?
You saw the ring.
He’s married.
That ring isn’t a detail—it’s a wall.

“I—” Mike suddenly shouted.

Shouted.

El flinched. She stared at him, eyes wide—and now his were wide too.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly.. “I—I just… I have too many questions in my head. I can’t shut it off.” he added, trying to steady himself.

Oh, Mike…

“Yes” El replied gently. "I understand. It’s normal to have questions. I understand.”
And she meant it.

Yes… and there it was again. Silence. Thick. Uncomfortable.

She turned toward the window. Through the narrow gap in the curtain, she looked out toward the waterfalls in the distance. Her head dipped once more.

How did he find her?
Who helped him?
Who knew she was here?
Was she being watched?

Was she safe—or was she about to run again? And run where? She had suffered to build this life from nothing. She had come as far away as possible—from everyone, from everything. Was it all going to happen again? How many more years? Until what age?

Eighty?

Would there still be people chasing her—to use her blood—when she was eighty years old?

She couldn’t stop the anxiety attack rising inside her. Her stomach churned. Then she realized Mike was watching her. Their eyes met.

All those years of fear—of vigilance, of constant readiness—crashed into her at once.

She started speaking fast. Too fast.

“H-how did you find me… here?Tell me the truth, Mike. Please. Are they... after me? Are you—are you here alone?”

Her panic kept climbing.

She knew Mike wouldn’t hurt her.
She knew that—didn’t she?

He was still her Mike.

No.
He wasn’t.

He's married—to another woman.

Maybe his family was in danger. Maybe they had promised to let them go if he found her. Mike would protect his family. He always had. He would do anything for the people he loved. What was she, anyway? A girlfriend from ten years ago?

Of course he would choose his wife. His children.

Enough.
Enough!

She had changed her name. Changed her hair. Cut off contact with everyone. She had erased herself.

So how?

How did he find her?

HOW?

“Who knows you’re here? Who knows I’m here? How did-did you find me?" She ran her right hand through her hair; now she was talking like a machine gun, words firing one after another. “Am I never... going to be safe—what am I supposed to do now” Tears were starting to well up. “I built a life from nothing. Far away from everything. From everyone. Was that not enough? Did even that fail” Her breath hitched.

Calm down.
Breathe.

She tried to breathe. As she did, she looked at Mike.

Mike shook his head quickly, then immediately grabbed it, dizzy. He closed his eyes for a moment and waited. Then, fast, he said, “No, El. No one is looking for you. No one will.”

He was trying to stay calm—but her fear was already bleeding into him.

“The Soviets collapsed. The war’s over. The experiments—ended. They saw you leave. All of us said the same thing. After a while… they stopped coming. Stopped checking. Hopper even became police chief again.”

His voice dropped now, turning into a whisper.

In the records…”
another breath, quieter still—
“…you’re listed as dead.”

Mike was still Mike.
At least, he seemed to be. The same urge to explain himself. The same restless, anxious gestures.

She believed him.
Just like that.

Because even if he wasn’t her Mike anymore—he was still Mike.

“That’s good… that’s good,” she said breathlessly. She kept breathing, felt the edge of her panic soften. But still—how had he found her? If he could, anyone could.

Damn it.

“But you, how did you find me?” she asked, the worry she was trying to suppress slipping through. “I tried so hard to make sure you wouldn’t. I stopped watching you in the void. I really did. I stopped. So how?”

He rubbed his face with his hand, then scratched his beard.

Oh my God.
So handsome.

NO.
HE’S MARRIED.

“Honestly, El…I wasn’t trying to."

He went on with a small, tentative smile. “

“I became a writer. And I got stuck. The ending—I couldn’t write it. Nothing worked. So I started visiting waterfalls. Thought maybe I’d… feel something again. Ones with three falls. Like we talked about...”

He hesitated, then continued. “That’s why I was here. I went to—Kirkju… foss… fell? Kirkjufellsfoss. Whatever. I went there. I didn’t find what I was looking for. The girl at the café told me about this place. Said it was quiet. Said people didn’t come here much. So I came here.”

He looked at her, earnest.

“And then I felt you. No one knows about you. No one’s coming. I swear it. You’re safe, El.”

She nodded. She felt a little calmer now.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. They both turned toward it.

It was Stefán—standing there with a tray of soup in his hands.

“Ég hugsaði að honum myndi líða betur ef hann drykki smá súpu.”
(I thought he might feel better if he had some soup.) Stefán said, looking at him.

“Takk, Stefán. Ég er virkilega þakklát.”
(Thank you, Stefán. I’m truly grateful.) El replied.

She really was. Without Stefán, she still wouldn’t quite believe Mike was there. Stefán was a good man. Even after being rejected—again—he hadn’t hesitated to bring soup to the man the woman he cared about was in love with.

She knew he wasn’t doing great emotionally. From the moment he’d learned who Mike was, he’d been overthinking everything. He could have gone home. Easily. But he hadn’t.

El unfolded the small folding table in the corner and placed it in front of Mike. With a gentle smile, she took the tray from Stefán’s hands. Stefán smiled at both of them in return, then quietly left the room.

Mike was still looking at the door. Then his gaze dropped to the table, and he asked—tense,

“Is he… is he your… husband?”

El lowered her eyes to the tray, studying the soup. She couldn’t look at Mike.

“He wants to be,” she said.

For the past nine years, Stefán had practically orbited around her. He was a normal boy—now a normal man. His family worked in fishing. But he had set his mind on becoming the best at the sport he was passionate about. Even when he tried not to make his feelings for her obvious, they still showed. And for the last four years, he had spoken them out loud—not constantly, never in a way that would damage their friendship, but always clearly enough. He made sure she knew that what he felt for her was love. 

No—not her.
Terry.

El was different. Terry was different.

For Terry, Stefán would have made a truly wonderful husband.
But not for El.

Terry was a camouflage.
And she always would be.

She had always been El. And El belonged to Mike. She had believed that Mike would belong to her, too.

As she tried to rein in her nerves, she saw Mike give a small nod. His jaw was tight. He took slow, deliberate breaths.

What was that?
Anger?

It showed on his face.

She set the tray aside and helped him shift into a sitting position. Her right hand closed around his upper arm, steadying him, while her left arm supported his back. He was trembling.

He murmured a quiet thank you.

El took the tray from the chair and placed it on the small table in front of him. With hands that shook, he picked up the spoon. Despite the tremor, he focused intensely, managing to bring the soup to his mouth and swallow it.

Now his eyes moved back and forth—between the bowl of soup and her.

The tension in the room returned, heavy and unmistakable.

“So... what do you want? Mike asked, he swallowed hard.

El fidgeted with her hands. She was going to say I don’t want to—but she refused to become "the pathetic girl who stayed hopelessly devoted to Mike Wheeler her entire life just because he had moved on".

“I don’t know,” she said.

Mike was staring down at the bowl now.

“What matters is… that you’re okay. Of course” he said quietly.

“I am,” El replied, forcing herself to hold the storm inside.

Simple sentences. Simple words.
They both had so much they could say—but the tension had grown too large now.

She needed to leave the room.

She stood up. “Finish your soup,” she told him. “I’ll be right back.”

She was just about to step out the door when Mike spoke again.

“Do you love him?”

This wasn’t a neutral tone.
There was something ugly in it—judgment, entitlement, jealousy, raw and unmistakable anger.

Was that it?
Were you angry, Michael Wheeler?

Oh.
Poor thing.

Guess who’s angrier now, Michael Wheeler?
Because it’s not me who’s married.

El felt the anger take over. It rushed through her blood, hot and fast. She spun around and faced Mike, brows drawn tight. He didn’t look away.

How dare you!

“Are you interrogating me?” El said, stunned.

Really, Mike? There’s a ring on your finger. I’ve torn myself apart for ten years for leaving you. I didn’t look at anyone else. And now you show up out of nowhere, I find out you’re married—and you think you get to interrogate me?

I’m sorry—WHAT??

“Do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?” Her voice was sharp. "While that is there?" She gestured—barely, but deliberately—toward Mike’s finger. Her eyes were wide. Unbelievable. And on top of everything else, he was holding her accountable.

She turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that it made the walls shake.

Stefán’s eyes went impossibly wide.

For a split second, their gazes met. Stefán immediately pretended to lower his eyes back to the newspaper he’d been reading, watching instead as El grabbed her coat and tore out of the house like a storm.

The front door slammed with such force that the floor itself seemed to tremble. Stefán stood frozen, staring in shock as the perfectly prepared, beyond-perfect tea he had just set on the table sloshed violently and spilled across the surface.

El was already gone—walking fast, disappearing down the road.

Chapter Text

First, the door to the room he’d been lying in had slammed shut.
Then he’d heard another door slam even harder.

El had misunderstood.

Misunderstood badly.

Mike was trying to pull himself together, worrying the ring on his left index finger with the first three fingers of his right hand. His ring. The little precaution he’d taken to keep women away-and it had kept the woman he actually loved away, too. Of course. Because something like this could only ever happen to Mike.

Fuck.

He looked down at the soup. It looked incredible, honestly, but his appetite was gone. He drank the water in the glass and leaned over, shifting the tray to his right, toward El’s chair. He slid the small table away as well.

His head was still genuinely splitting.

El was gone.
She’d come back, though. Right?

This wasn’t over.
It couldn’t be.
This was his house-wasn’t it?

He scowled at himself. He hadn’t meant for his voice to come out that harsh. He’d wanted it to sound like an innocent question. That was all it was supposed to be. He’d just been wondering if she loved that man. But his tone had come out wrong. Ugly. Grating.

You idiot, Mike. For years, you wanted to find that girl.

And the world practically helped you like you were in some damn romance movie. And you still didn’t take the shot.

Wasn’t the whole point that she was alive?
That she was safe?

What the hell was that tone?

You did a terrible job and now she’s gone. Congrats, Mike.
Be proud of yourself.

He buried his face in his hands.

At the sound of the doorknob turning, his eyes snapped to the door immediately.

That man had come back.

The man in love with his girlfriend.
No. Your ex-girlfriend.
The man who wanted to marry her.

He stepped inside. He looked at Mike-then at the tray on the chair, at the soup that hadn’t been finished yet.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Mike replied.

“I’m Stefán,” Stefán said, introducing himself. He was smiling.

“Mike,” Mike answered. He wasn’t smiling.

“Nice to meet you. You should eat your soup,” he said, in accented, broken English. “You need take medicine. Pain one. And muscle… uh-muscle medicine. My English not so good. I hope you understand.”

“I’m not hungry,” Mike said. “But I understand what you’re saying. It’s fine. I think your English is good, actually. I can't speak Icelandic at all.” His voice was flat.

“Before you wake up, doctor look at you-no, not look… nei, nei… hvernig var þetta aftur á ensku? Já! (no, no… what was the English again? Yeah!)-I mean, she took care of you. She left medicine. Said you take after food. Terry went somewhere. I don’t know. She was very angry. But she come back. It’s time for medicine. Eat bread. So stomach not get sick.”

And with that, Stefán left the room.

Wait. Terry?

Oh. Right. That’s what they call her here. Her mother’s name.

Okay. Sure. That makes sense.

Stefán came back with the medicine. Pills, gel, and a glass of water in his hands. First, he went to the tray, took the bread, tore off a piece, handed it to Mike, and said, “Eat.”

Mike took the bread and put it in his mouth, swallowing it without really chewing.

Then Stefán handed him two pills.

Mike hesitated.

"Doctor bring. Swallow" he said.

And Mike obeyed.

Stefán might not know who he was-but Mike knew exactly who he was.

He was the man in love with the woman Mike loved.
The man who wanted to marry her.
And most likely, the man El would say yes to. Whatever the Icelandic version of yes, I’ll marry you was-he was the man she’d say it to.

Mike started watching Stefán like a creep.

Stefán set the glass of water down on the tray, then looked at his own hands, then around the room, like he was searching for something. He stepped out, rummaged around somewhere, and came back with torn cotton strips in his hands.

He was completely at ease.

The ease of knowing this house.
Like he spent hours here every day.

Which meant either this was his house-or…

Or this was El’s house, and he came here every day.
Or maybe he even spent the night.

Maybe they curled up together and watched movies, or maybe-

Oops.
EASY THERE, COWBOY. Calm down.

Mike closed his eyes, took a breath.
When he opened them again, Stefán was standing right next to him.

“Mike… uh… I need put this on you,” Stefán said, holding up the gel, choosing his words carefully.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

“Pain gel. You hit… shoulder. Doctor say put,” he explained.

Great.
Now he was going to rub pain gel on him.

“I can do it myself. Thank you,” Mike said, but Stefán shook his head.

“No. I do. And then… then I wrap it,” he said, showing the torn cotton strips.

Mike straightened up without meaning to, and Stefán carefully helped him out of his sweater. When the cool air touched his skin, goosebumps rose instantly.

Stefán was looking now-at the places where the gel needed to go.

Mike was watching him.

Stefán poured some gel into his hand and started rubbing it in, slow and steady.

Yeah. Stefán really didn’t know who he was.

If he did, he’d probably be rubbing it in like he wanted to break his arm. And honestly, he could. The man looked strong-solid. Built. If he wanted to, he could snap Mike like a breadstick.

But Mike wouldn’t have cared.

Because the pain of a broken arm wouldn’t have hurt more than a broken heart.

With quiet care, Stefán rubbed the gel in. He wrapped some spots with cotton strips, and on other places he simply laid the cotton strip over the skin. Then he helped Mike back into his sweater.

“All done. You okay?”

“Y-yeah… I’m okay. Thank you.”

“No problem. So… tell me. My English-good? Do you understand me?”

“Yeah. You speak well. You’ll get even better with practice,” Mike said-to the man who had treated him kindly, and who was, most likely, the future husband of the woman he loved.

“I actually practice. Terry helps. We do speaking club,” Stefán said. “I teach her Icelandic, she teach me English. She is better than me. She speaks Icelandic very well. But me, English still…” He waved it off. “Anyway. You rest. See you.”

He reached for the tray, gathered the dishes, and headed for the door.

“Will she come back?” Mike asked.

“I don’t know when,” Stefán said. “This is her house, after all. She will come. She was angry. When she angry, she go.”

And then he left the room.

Her house.

He hadn’t said our house.

So Stefán wasn’t the owner. But he was comfortable. Too comfortable.
Which meant-yeah. He came here all the time. Walked into rooms. Probably even stayed the night.

Mike scrubbed his face hard with his hands.

Jealousy twisted in his stomach, sharp enough to cramp. Should he leave? He should. He needed to find El and talk to her. But where would he even look? He could wait outside if he had to-but he couldn’t stay here.

Not in this house.
Not in the house where that man was.

The bed he was lying in suddenly made him sick.

Did Stefán sleep here?
Or worse-did he sleep in El’s bed?

If he stayed here overnight, then of course he slept with her. Of course he did.

The thought of another man holding El, breathing her in, touching her...

It burned straight through his chest.
Oh my God, Mike.
He needed to leave. Now.

His head was still spinning as he tried to get out of bed. He stood up slowly. Keeping his balance, he grabbed the bag by the chair near the door and set it on the bed. He checked inside-nothing was missing.

He picked up his jacket and checked the pockets. Phone. Wallet. Car keys.

The car.

He needed to find the car. Had they come here in his car? Should he go back to the waterfall? How far was it, anyway? How long had it been since they got here?

Oh God-what if he’d missed his flight? What if Jane was worried?

He pulled out his phone from inside his jacket and checked the time.
Oh. Thank God. Same day.

He should’ve checked the time the moment he woke up, but his head hadn’t been right... look at everything that had happened!

He needed to call his daughter. Calling from the hotel would’ve been cheaper, but it didn’t matter. They needed to talk. Still, it was very early morning back there-he’d have to wait another two or three hours.

He put his jacket on, pulled on his beanie, slipped into his shoes, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked out the door.

He went down the hallway toward the large room he assumed was the living room. Directly across from the hallway he’d come from, he saw another corridor leading to the front door-and an open kitchen connected to the living area.

Stefán was there.

Of course he was.

As Mike moved quietly toward the door, he heard Stefán’s voice.

“Mike?”

He hated that sound.
No-he really hated it.

Don’t say my name like that. Don’t talk to me at all. That’s what he wanted to say, but he kept walking toward the door.

Should he thank him? Probably. The man had brought him soup and medicine. He’d rubbed pain relief cream into his shoulder. He’d taken care of him.

Because Mike was a guest.
And Stefán-as the owner of the house-had looked after him.

The owner of the house.

Don’t throw up, Mike. Not here. You can throw up outside.

Stefán came up behind him and stopped him.

“Where are you going? You need to lie down and rest.”

“Do you know where my car is? I need to leave. I need to go back to my hotel. I need to talk to my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Stefán said. “Okay... your daughter… yours? Okay, look. Your car isn’t here. When we came from the waterfall, we came in my car. So your car is still there.”

“How am I supposed to get there? Is it close?” Mike asked.

“Not very close. I mean...kind of close, but the road is long. If you want, you can talk to your daughter here. If you don’t have a phone, you can use mine. But please...rest. Come, I make you tea, my friend,” Stefán said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

My friend?

“Stefán, please. You don’t know who I...”

“I do,” Stefán said. “I know who you are, Mike. Come, sit. Tomorrow we go together and get your car. Also, you and Terry have things to talk about. I think the start was not very good. But don’t worry. She will come soon.”

“You… you know who I am?”

“Of course. Come, sit. We talk. Do you like cake? I made one. It’s good with tea. Come.”

Mike’s head was truly spinning now.

They were both in love with the same woman. And Mike was-more or less-an obstacle here. Even a threat.
And yet Stefán wasn’t dropping the politeness. Not even a little.

Why?

Oh. Right. Of course.

He thinks he’s married.

That’s why he doesn’t see him as dangerous. To him, Mike is just someone from El’s past-a brief encounter. Hurt, but healing. Someone who will leave. And once he leaves, the threat will be gone.

And being kind to Mike will earn him points with El.

Very clever, Stefán. Very clever.

Just wait until you hear this: I’m not married.

You’re jealous, Mike.
You’re being irrational.
El is not an object. This isn’t just something between you and Stefán.

Get it together.

You’re right.
You’re absolutely right.

Mike took off his backpack, his beanie, his jacket, and his shoes-because Stefán walked around barefoot-and followed him inside, then sat down on the couch.

Stefán was in the kitchen now, cutting the cake he’d just baked into slices and taking out teacups. The way he moved around this house so comfortably drained Mike’s spirits.

His gaze drifted to the wall between the kitchen and the hallway leading to the front door.

There were framed photographs there.

He stood up to take a closer look.

Group photos.
He saw El-Stefán beside her. Other people he didn’t recognize. He studied El without restraint: her hair, now blonde; her beautiful smile. Seeing that smile, one tugged at Mike’s own mouth, uninvited.

Another photo.
El alone this time. Sitting on the ground with a baby goat in her lap. She looked happy-hugging it close.

Another one.
Just El and Stefán. They were very close. Stefán’s arm was around her shoulders. They looked happy.

He kept looking.

In some photos El was alone; in others she was with friends. In most of them, Stefán was there-always at her side.

El was happy.

Celebrating birthdays. Christmases. Little ordinary days.

Traveling.

Living.

This was different from the El who had lived like a prisoner in Hawkins. Different from the El who used to say she didn’t belong anywhere.

She’d found where she belonged.

She had friends. And-judging by what Mike could see-a man who loved her, who seemed capable of handling just about anything.

Aside from the times El got angry and slammed doors, Mike hadn’t heard much noise in this house.

And then he understood.

He’d found the answer he’d been looking for.

The Mage hadn’t gone through the portal after all. Somehow, she’d escaped-into peace. Far from the Paladin. A life without heavy burdens on her back. A life with nothing more than the ordinary rush of living.

Mike didn’t need to stay anymore.

He should go back to Hawkins. Back to his daughter. Turn in the book, and focus on the new adventures he would share with her.

That was the right thing to do.

The touch of a hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts.

Stefán had set the tea and the cake plates down on the coffee table. He was looking at Mike now, holding two dessert forks in the hand that wasn’t touching him.

“Come on, Mike. You will love this cake. My mother’s recipe. Everyone likes it. I hope you like it too. Uh… walnuts… aller-aller… ugh. Allergic,” he struggled. “You don't have allergy, right?”

“I don’t have any allergies. Thank you, Stefán.”

“You can call me Stef,” he said. “I give you cake and tea. In my book, this means we share things.”

Things we share.
Unfortunately, you’re right, Stef.

Her.

“Alright, Stef. Thank you.”

Stefán picked up the TV remote and switched to a sports channel. Mike didn’t understand what was being said, but he watched the football highlights anyway. At the same time, he took a forkful of cake.

Damn it.

Unfortunately, it was insanely good.

A man who could cook. Strong. Taller. And-of course-better-looking.

He didn’t stand a chance.

This was a match lost before even stepping onto the field.

Hating the fact that he liked it, Mike kept eating the cake and sipping his tea. He looked at Stefán.

“You said you knew who I was. I mean… do you really know who I am?”

“You’re Terry’s ex-boyfriend,” Stefán said, shoving a huge bite of cake into his mouth. “Kristin told me... the doctor who.. checked you. I already knew your name, but today I learned you were that person. Terry’s first love...the reason it never started between us."

“The reason?” Mike asked, looking at him.

Stefán looked away. He chewed more slowly now. Took a sip of his tea.

"Look, my friend,” he said, tense, wiping the table with his hand. “When Terry first come here, she was… lost. Like she lose way. She talk about hard time. About leaving things behind. She start from zero here. Build life. She have job. Home.
When she come here, she not even have ID. We give her someone else’s. She go throu… trough… difficult path-but she build life.”

Someone else’s ID?

“About us,” he continued, “we friends from first day. I have feelings for her ten years. Ten long years.
We close. Very close. We eat together. Drink together. Always together. If I bad person, she not my friend.
She not let me in her home. She trust me. She care about me… as friend.
But it not work. And reason is you. It hurt to say. But this is truth.”

“So talk to her,” Stefán said. His voice was still calm-but tight. “You hurt her, you fix it. Only after that, you leave.”

He paused.

“If you leave this house and you... don’t fix.. what hurts her,” he went on, slower now, each word heavier, “I will find you. Before you leave this town”

His jaw clenched.

"After this, you don’t see friendly side”

He leaned back, eyes hard now.

"I do this to protect my friend. Ten years friend. And to protect woman I love

A beat.

“Believe me,” he added quietly...too quietly. "Same thing"

Hold on...WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU THREATENING??

Mike’s brows drew together as he stood up and squared himself in front of Stefán.

“Listen to me. You don’t get to threaten me. No matter what, this is between her and me. I don’t care if you’ve known her for ten years or twenty. She was my girlfriend. And she’s the woman I’m still in love with. If she still loves me, she’ll come with me. And you can take your dick, turn it around, and SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS!”

Stefán slammed his hand down on the coffee table and shot to his feet.

"You married, asshole! Ring on your finger. You say you have daughter. Be husband, be father. Leave her alone. Let her. She be happy with man. With loyal man.Talk to her and tell everything."

Mike had snapped. He yelled, furious.

“I'M NOT! I’m not married. Yes, I have a child-but I adopted her. She’s not my biological daughter. I’ve never been married. There was never anyone else. Just her. I lost her when I was sixteen. I’ve lived like a widower ever since. I thought she was dead. She wanted us to think she was dead. I’ve been carrying her absence, her pain, for years. I lost myself. I gave up my life. I wrote her into my books. Everything I have exists because of her. Her name is engraved inside this ring. I wear it to keep women away.”

Stefán was stunned. Given Mike’s rage, it was hard to say he understood every word-but he understood enough: the man wasn’t married, the child was adopted, and he loved Terry.

“I’m not used to English at this speed,” Stefán said, staring at him, calmer now. “I didn’t understand most of what you said. But I understood that you’re not married.”

Mike, still out of breath, blinked. The man who had threatened him moments ago had suddenly cooled down-speaking almost gently now.

What the hell?

“Another tea?” Stefán asked, face calm, as Mike stared at him in disbelief.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just want her okay. She was hurting, Mike. She was desperate.
I want be happy too. I want be with her.
But if my happiness mean her mis… mise… fuck!-her misery-then fuck that happiness.
Her happiness first. Always.
If you honest… fine.
But you hurt her, I throw you off waterfall.”

He picked up Mike’s cake plate and cup and walked into the kitchen.

A little while later, the sound of the lock turning echoed through the house.

At the noise of shoes being taken off and the door closing, Stefán came in, drying his hands on a towel.

El was back.

She gave Mike a brief look. It wasn’t full of rage, but it still looked like she might want to kill him. Mike had always been wary of that look. It was the kind where you couldn’t tell what she was about to do-but you knew exactly what she wouldn’t: anything gentle.

She took off her coat, scarf, beanie, and gloves. She shoved everything-including the scarf-into her coat pockets, then walked into the room directly across from the couch Mike was sitting on and shut the door.

Stefán met Mike’s eyes, lifted his eyebrows slightly, shrugged, and went back to the kitchen. He hung the towel up, took off his apron, then sat down on the couch, stretching and yawning.

The moment El stepped out of her room, he stood up.

“I’m going home now. There is cake you like. There is tea,” he said and pointing at himself with pride “Look how good my English is. You see, Terry? I will be king of England. That good.”

He laughed, looking at both Mike and El.

Mike smiled faintly and looked at El.

When Stefán stepped closer to her, Mike found himself torn between looking down and watching them.

El wasn’t looking at Mike at all.

Stefán leaned in, his expression serious, and whispered something in Icelandic into El’s ear.. She shot him a sharp look in response. As she kept staring at him, Stefán’s face broke into a smile-but the moment El turned her head away, his expression crumpled. The smile slipped, like it had never really been there. His jaw tightened. His lips trembled once. He swallowed hard, just for a second.

El looked back at him. And just like that, the smile snapped back into place.

Too fast. Too practiced.

He wrapped his arm around her head and pulled her into his chest in an exaggerated, joking gesture.

As Stefán held her there, El’s gaze flicked up-just briefly.
It found Mike.

He was already looking at her.

For a second, neither of them looked away. 

El tried to wriggle out of Stefán's arm with a playful shove.

“Hey,” she muttered, amusement flickering in her voice.

Stefán laughed and tightened his hold just a second longer. He pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head and said "Góða nótt, pirrandi!"

He waved at Mike, grabbed his coat, slipped on his shoes, and left the house.

Mike had no idea what Stefán had said-but it was obvious he was fighting not to cry. 

He didn’t feel jealous of the way he acted, or the way he held her. 

Okay. Maybe he’d been a little jealous.

A little?

Fine. A LOT!

But they were just the exaggerated gestures of someone in pain, trying hard not to let it show.

It was a hard day for him too.

But there was something Mike absolutely had to do.

Just like he had told Stefán -only calmer this time- he had to tell El everything.

He didn’t move.
Didn’t reach for her.
He watched her walk to the couch Stefán had been in and sit down.
Then he waited.

“Did you eat?” El asked.

Her voice was cold.

Mike shivered, like a chill had gone straight through him.

“Y-yeah… I had some of the cake Stef made.”

“Did you take your meds?”
Still that hard, cold tone.

Her eyes stayed on the coffee table. Like Stefán before her, she wiped it absently with her hand.

“Yeah.”

El nodded twice.

Then she fixed her gaze on Mike and, in the coldest voice yet, gave a single command:

“Talk.”

Chapter Text

“Terry. Að vita eitthvað er ekki einhliða athöfn. Talaðu við hann. Vinsamlegast. Leyfðu honum að segja þér frá.”

(Terry. Knowing isn’t a one-sided act. Talk to him. Please. Let him tell you.)

Stefán said it in a whisper. His gaze was dead serious.

El stared straight back at him, unblinking-and then a smile crept onto Stefán’s face. El looked away for half a second, but when she glanced back, he was still smiling.

Oh no.
He’s going to do it again.
At least don’t do it in front of Mike.

Here we go…

Stefán looped his arm around El’s head and, with an exaggerated, playful motion, pulled her into his chest. As he held her there, El’s eyes flicked upward for just a moment.

They found Mike.

He was already looking at her.

For a heartbeat, neither of them looked away.

El ignored the sudden spike in her pulse and tried to wriggle free, pushing lightly at Stefán’s arms in mock protest.

“Hey,” she murmured, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Stefán laughed. He held her head a second longer-then, like he always did, pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head.

“Góða nótt, pirrandi!”
(Good night, grumpy!)

He always did that. Ever since the first days they’d been close.

Back then, he hadn’t been that strong; El could break free easily. But the stronger he got, the harder it became.

Stefán understood Terry frighteningly well. He’d cracked every one of Terry’s habits. He knew what she was going to say before the words ever left her mouth. If Terry was a hidden code, Stefán was the one who decrypted her.

And he kept everything he learned to himself.

But only Terry.

Not El.

Right?

He didn’t know who El really was. Truthfully, he’d never questioned where-or why-she came from. He’d accepted what she chose to tell him, given her the space to speak when she was ready, and never pushed. He’d said that what mattered was knowing the person standing in front of you.

But if it weren’t Terry-if it were El-

Could Stefán decrypt her too?

Living with two different selves had always been hard for El. She felt like she was deceiving the people around her. Over time, at the end of nights spent with the people who had become her closest friends-nights where she tasted, just a little, the youth she’d never truly had-she would cry into her pillow, hugging it tight, feeling like she had betrayed someone.

Both the friends she had there
and the ones back in Hawkins.

She’d cried the hardest in the moments she realized that sometimes-at the end of drunken nights spent singing around a fire-when it was Stefán who brought her home, she called him Lucas. Or Dustin. Or Mike.

She had never been able to explain why.

There was no need.

Because Stefán had already figured it out: Those names belonged to her past.

He never asked questions.
Not once.

He would simply cover her up, place a gentle kiss on her temple, check whether the gas was turned off, leave the house, lock the door, and place the key back in its hidden spot.

El was grateful to him.

She was, of course, aware of his feelings for her. For the past four years, whenever his desire to be a father resurfaced, the conversation inevitably circled back to marriage-but El never felt uncomfortable.

Not because she wanted it.

Her heart already belonged to Mike. She would never act as if it belonged to Stefán. Stefán wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

He simply wasn’t ill-intentioned.

He wanted to be a father.

And, in his mind, he imagined her beside him in that life.

His biggest dream was to see her and their children wearing his jersey, coming to his games. Every time he scored, he wanted to lift his hockey stick and celebrate with them.

He was simple in the way that mattered—what you saw was what you got.

Emotionally, he resembled Mike; when it came to action, physical strength, and his love of sports, he was much closer to Lucas. El had always felt safe with him.

As much as she loved Kristin, Anna, and Magnus, Stefán had always been different.

And El was certain of this: Even if he knew who she truly was, he would still stay. He might not understand-but he wouldn’t ask. He would stay. He had been like that when he was eighteen. Now he was twenty-eight, and he was still the same.

That was the kind of man he was.

Now that man was getting ready to leave the house. He waved at Mike, grabbed his coat, put on his shoes. As he stepped out the door, he gave El one last look.

In that split second, El saw Stefán’s eyes fill with tears.

She knew today hadn’t been a happy day for him. He had come without question, carried Mike, learned who he was-and still offered him soup, still talked with him. And then he had stepped back, asking El to listen to Mike.

El was sure of it: there were storms raging inside him. She knew, even now, that he didn’t want to leave. In his own words, he was handing the game to the other side. He would probably overthink himself into exhaustion and pass out tonight.

Still, he hadn’t been selfish.

He was a good man.

El knew him well.

Because just as Terry was a hidden code-and Stefán was the one who decrypted her-

Stefán was a code too.

And El was the one who had decrypted him.

After the door closed, El went over and locked it. When she returned to the living room, she glanced at Mike out of the corner of her eye.

Mike was sitting there with the ring on his finger-hardly all that shiny, really, but to El it gleamed with ridiculous grandeur. He looked unsettled, like the earlier embrace between her and Stefán had rubbed him the wrong way

Fine.

What she actually wanted was to go to her room, lock the door, and not come out all night. But Stefán’s words kept looping in her head:

Knowing isn't a one-sided act. Talk to him. Please. Let him tell you.

Alright.

She walked over to the couch Stefán had been sitting on. Mike was watching her now. She sat down, tucking her left leg beneath her.

Mike waited. He stared at his hand, tense. His eyes were unfocused; like a nervous tic, he kept fiddling with it.

No.

He was fiddling with his ring.

We get it, Mike.
You have a ring.
You’re a fucking married man.
We get it.

El watched him for a few more seconds. The smell of cake drifting in from the kitchen made her stomach growl. She set her voice.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Her voice came out as cold as she’d wanted. Good.

“Y-yeah… I had some of the cake Stef made,” Mike said. He was nervous.

“Did you take your meds?”

Still the same sharp tone.

Good job, girl.

El’s gaze dropped to the coffee table. Why did she even care whether he’d taken his meds or not? He was a grown man. If he wanted to get better and go back to his lovely wife, he’d take his pills. He’d been shown kindness here. The rest was his problem.

She brushed her hand absently over the surface of the table. She could feel Mike’s eyes on her.

“Yeah,” Mike said.

El nodded twice. Then she looked straight at him. She gave him his first-and last-chance to explain.

“Talk.”

Mike had mostly been someone who felt tense.

During school exams.
When he had to talk to people he didn’t know.
When he was being bullied.
And in plenty of other situations.

He’d always felt tense when he and El argued.

Normally, this moment would have been one of those. But this time, something was different: he no longer knew what El’s temperament was like. The person in front of him wasn’t a girl anymore. She was an adult woman. A very beautiful woman.

He had never been able to imagine her with blonde hair.

And yet, with her hair pulled into a messy bun, the way the chestnut at her roots softened into blonde toward the ends suited her unbelievably well. Her face had changed too-it was the face of an adult now.

Mike could have thanked every god anyone had ever believed in just for being able to see her like this.

Her eyes hadn’t changed, though.

She was still looking at him with those same doe eyes.

Alright-she wasn’t exactly looking at him affectionately right now. But Mike didn’t care. As long as those pupils were focused on him, nothing else mattered.

There was so much he needed to tell her.

And so much he needed to hear from her.

But where was he supposed to start?

And he definitely needed to call Jane.

Okay...

You can do this, Mike.
Stay calm.
Fix the misunderstanding first.

Right.
Okay.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Mike. You? Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. A little, but thanks to Stef… he helped. Meds, gel, that kind of stuff.”

“Okay.”

“I think… I mean… El…”

He hesitated.

“You misunderstood me.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

Her voice was definitely sharp now.

Shit...

Don’t sound like you’re accusing her.

“No, that’s not what I meant. I mean… it is, but-”

He stopped. Took a breath.

“There’s been a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean it like that—I wasn’t blaming you. I just… meant that something got misunderstood. That there’s something unclear between us.”

He was out of breath.

He looked at El’s face.

Her expression hadn’t changed. She was waiting. Patiently.

And right then, his phone rang.

Hawkins Home.

Perfect timing. Truly perfect.

His little girl had definitely teamed up with her grandma and called him, ignoring her grandpa’s ‘No, the bill will be expensive. Wait-your dad will call’ protests.

Mike panicked.

If he didn’t answer, they’d worry.

If he did, this conversation would be over before it had even properly begun.

“Is your wife calling?” El asked pointedly.

“No-my daughter, probably” Mike said quickly.

What did you just say?

Alright then.

What kind of coffin would you like, Michael?
Walnut? Maple?

You didn’t say you weren’t married yet.
And now you’re saying you have a daughter.
Well done.

The phone kept ringing.

He caught El’s look-the kind that said "you’re unbelievable, Mike… I’ve never seen someone this shameless." He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Finally, he hit the OK button and lifted the phone to his ear. Without taking his eyes off El, he answered:

“Hey?”

Even without being on speaker, Jane’s voice filled the room.

“Daaaddy! You okay?”

“I’m okay, princess. You?”

“Okay… Dad, you’re taking photos of Mr. Traveler, right? At breakfast-”

When El stood up, Mike jumped to his feet too, the phone still at his ear, and caught her left arm.

They froze.

Their eyes locked.

Jane kept talking-cheerful, her voice echoing through the room. But her poor father, who had a real talent for ruining things, barely caught half of the funny stories she was telling.

His eyes pleaded with El: please, don’t go.

El’s lips curved slightly. She pointed toward the kitchen with her right arm, turning her head the same way.

Mike nodded frantically.

He watched her walk into the kitchen. She was pulling out a plate for the cake, a cup for the tea.

“…and then pops said, ‘don’t touch it, its slime will burn your hand.’ So I said Mesodon thyroidus mucus doesn’t cause irritation; that’s not Conus geographus and that one doesn’t even live on land anyway. Did I say it right, Dad?”

“Yes, kiddo. You said it perfectly. I’m sure your pops learned quite a lot about snail species today. You did a great job.”

His eyes were still on El.

She looked indifferent-but she was definitely listening.

Mike could have sworn he saw El’s jaw tighten when he called Jane kiddo.

El was plating the cake now, pouring the tea.

"Dad, Nana’s calling me. She says she loves you and wanted me to tell you. We’re going to the park. See you-take lots of pictures. Baa-byyyye!"

“Have fun, okay? I love you!”

“I love you too, Dad-byeee!”

El set what she’d brought on the coffee table, sat down, and took a forkful of cake. She didn’t look at Mike.

“See you, my angel.”

Mike ended the call.

“El, you need to know-”

“How old is she?”

“Six.”

El’s eyes lifted to him; her eyebrows rose and fell just slightly.
Oh no…

“What’s her name?” she asked before taking a sip of the tea in her cup. Her gaze had already dropped back to the coffee table.

“Jane.”

He saw her pause for just a second.
Oh, that’s worse…

“El, you need to know-”

“It’s okay, Mike. Really. It’s not a problem. This was my choice. Because of the choices I made, you made your own-and that’s exactly what I wanted for you.” El was talking now like a truck with the accelerator floored and the brakes blown.

“You had a bright future, and I always wanted you to live-to reach that future. I didn’t want you to die because of me. I didn’t want us to pretend we were living in some fairytale, running away every day. I didn’t want you cut off from your family. We were kids, after all. Why did I ever feel like our fates were tied together? But yet I did. So I shut myself away.”

Mike stayed quiet and listened. She had picked up speed; he let her keep going. El had opened the box-now she was emptying it.

“After I ran that night, I wandered for weeks before I found a place I could call home. I took the emergency kit Hop had left behind in the tunnels. There was a little money and some food, but I had no plan. No ID. No one.”

Her eyes were glassy now.

“But I tried. First I hitchhiked east. Then I snuck onto a cargo ship at the port. I hid for days. I ended up here. After I got off, I realized I’d spent twenty days on that ship. I still didn’t have a plan. I saw the waterfalls in a discarded newspaper and… I hitchhiked again. That’s when I met Stefán. He and his brother had finished a delivery and were heading back. He argued with his brother and made sure I got here. I told them my name was Terry. At least I could carry my mother with me that way.”

She took a small sip of her now-lukewarm tea, just enough to wet her throat.

“They gave me a home. A job. Stef taught me Icelandic. They took me in. Supported me. They gave me the identity of her daughter-a girl my age who had been reported missing. Stefán’s father took me to someone he knew to have my photo added to the ID. The name on the card was completely different, but here, I made a place for myself as Terry.”

Now she glanced vaguely up at the ceiling.

“That woman’s house was here. It was in ruins. Stef’s and Magnus’s fathers, their brothers, and the girls-we fixed it together. Magnus’s father was a carpenter; he helped a lot. It was really hard at first, Mike. I wanted to go back. But I held on. I missed you so much. I missed Hop. I missed everyone…

I held on so I wouldn’t go back.
I couldn’t go back.
I couldn’t…”

Mike forced himself not to get up and hold her. Any attempt at an embrace would have ended with her retreating to her room and locking the door. He gave her the space she needed. He could feel his own eyes burning. He still couldn’t believe it.

He had found the woman he hadn’t seen in ten years. She was alive. She had built a life. He had spent years trying to survive her absence-and now she was right in front of him, her defenses down, telling him everything she’d lived through.

“Months later, I wanted to check on you-in the Void. I saw Hop on his knees at the foot of my bed in the cabin, crying. The strongest person I knew, that massive man who had been a father to me, was crying like a child. He tore at his shirt as he cried. I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t look anymore. I never wanted to cause pain. I hurt him. I ended up doing the very thing I was angry at him for.”

She sniffed, trying to pull in a steady breath.

“I checked on the others. They were all unhappy. But they were alive. Sad, angry maybe-but alive. Because I know they would have hidden me. And if the army found out, they would have killed them. I didn’t want anyone to die because of me.”

She looked at Mike.

“I wanted to check on you too, but I couldn’t. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. If I saw you, I’d lose control and touch you-and you’d feel it. Then you’d start trying to find me, and the army would notice and start following you. When you finally found me, they would kill you and use my blood to make new numbers. That’s why I couldn’t look. That’s why I tried to learn whether you were okay by checking on the others. They were with you-but you’d yelled at them. You’d kicked Lucas out of your basement. You weren’t okay. You were alive, but you weren’t okay.”

As Mike remembered those days, the bitter taste of alcohol flooded his mouth again; the sharp pain in his wrist where he’d cut it with glass; the agony of the tube forced down his nose when he’d been taken to the hospital after trying to kill himself with antidepressants.

“I checked on you once. You were in your blanket fort. Drunk. Trying to reach me with the SuperCom. Then you found a piece of glass…”

Yes-Mike remembered that day, even if not clearly. He remembered Nancy finding him. He remembered the screams, hazy and broken. After that day, Nancy had started watching him even more obsessively.

“And you cut your wrist. And you cut it again. Again. Again. Again…”

Mike was crying now too. That night, El had been added to the list of people he’d hurt.

“I couldn’t take it anymore and I called out to you. The lights in the room flickered, but you didn’t notice, Mike. You weren’t yourself. Then Nancy came into the room and let out a horrible scream. I still hear that scream in my dreams. I thought I’d lost you.”

“I tried not to look into the Void again. I couldn’t handle it. I would have hugged you. You would’ve been in danger. But I couldn’t stay away. For many years, on November 7th and on your birthday, I visited you in the Void. I cried with you. Then, a very long time later, I visited you one more time. It was your birthday. You weren’t at home-you were in another room, alone. You were talking to my photo. You said you missed me. You asked if I was happy, if I was eating waffles. You said you loved me-and that you always would-and you hugged my photo and cried. You cried so much. I cried with you. I couldn’t take it. I moved closer to you; the lights flickered again, but you were so devastated you couldn’t see it. That night, I cried with you for minutes.”

Mike remembered that birthday.

He’d been in his dorm room.
His roommate was at a party.
He was alone.

He was talking to El’s photo.

I’m angry at all the "I love you"s I didn’t say-at not saying them enough. The way you said, ‘But you… you don’t love me anymore, do you?’ still echoes in my ears. I couldn’t do anything.

If I had the mind I have now, I would hold you tight. I would kiss you. Even if I couldn’t say I love you out loud, I would try to take the pain out of you.

Because I love you so much.
I’ve loved you since the very first day I found you.
And I will love you until the end of my life.

I love you…
You-”

“And I couldn’t come back again, Mike,” El went on, her crying now more violent, breaking through her words.

Mike couldn’t take it anymore.

Crying himself, he stood up, shoved the coffee table forward, and sat beside El, pulling her into his arms.

The moment he held her, he felt complete. The dead half of the man who had been half-dead for years came back to life.

He held her tight.

El’s head was pressed against Mike’s chest now; her sobs were so intense that his sweater was soaked within seconds. Mike held her as if his life depended on it. He wasn’t going to let her go anymore. He swore it in that moment.

He would never let her go again.

He tilted his head slightly to the right. He saw the crown of El’s head and pressed his nose there. The second he did, his tears came harder.

That smell.

Her smell…

The scent from El’s pillowcase. The scent clinging to her hair tie.

El’s scent.

Independent of shampoo or soap-something that belonged only to her. A scent Mike could never encounter again, even if he traveled the whole world, the entire galaxy.

A scent that awakened every one of his senses, that pulled him back to his feet, sending vibrations through him all at once, from head to toe.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

There was no philosophical explanation for this.

No religious one, either.

This meeting was far beyond fate or coincidence.

There was no place for this in science, either. Science had no explanation for a man who had died years ago suddenly being reborn.

First, he pressed a small kiss to the top of her head. Then he sealed his lips there completely. He held her tighter.

El’s right hand was clutching the collar of Mike’s sweater now; she didn’t want to let go.

Mike had no such intention anyway.

Without lifting her head from his chest, El turned slightly. She rested the side of her head against Mike’s shoulder, burying her nose in the hollow between his throat and his neck. She lifted the hand gripping his collar and cupped Mike’s left cheek.

Mike shuddered when he felt the warmth of El’s breath and her hand. As he drew a deep breath, her scent filled his entire body. He wrapped his arms around her even tighter.

He cried…

And listened to her cry.

He thought about everything El had told him. About the pain she’d endured. She was right. He would have done it. If he’d known she was alive, he would have risked death to go after her. He was willing-because of course he was. He would have run away with her every single day. And if death came…

Let it come.

Mike had already died the moment she left. At least he would have died in the arms of the woman he loved. Now that he’d been granted the honor of holding her again, he would never let her go. Never.

He listened to El. Her crying had slowed now. She was taking deep, steady breaths.

“I wanted to-but I couldn’t. I think it was like after the fight with the Mind Flayer. I couldn’t see you in the Void anymore. I just… I can’t use my powers now,” El said, her voice hoarse from crying.

“Well-uh…” Mike started, like he was drunk.
Like was an understatement.
He was drunk -on her. 

“Is that… a good thing?”

“I couldn’t see you again. At least... not in the Void.”

Mike didn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

“Your books… I read them, Mike,” she said.
“They were beautiful. They became my only connection to you. I couldn’t see you anymore-except for the author photo on the cover. Maybe it was better that way. Or maybe it would’ve been better if I had seen you. I don’t know. I mean, you-”

“I’m not married, El. I never got married,” Mike said suddenly.

He couldn’t see her face, but he would’ve sworn she’d frowned, trying to make sense of it.

Mike.
Don’t stop.
Keep going.

“Yes, I have a ring-but this ring… It doesn’t mean anything. I mean, it does mean something. It has meaning, but-”

He stopped. Swallowed.

“That meaning is you, El.”

He reached out with his right hand, slipped the ring off his left, and held it between his thumb and index finger, extending it toward El as she leaned against his shoulder.

“Look inside the ring,” he whispered.

El took it with her left hand. She turned it slightly, angling it toward the light so she could see inside.

Mike & El - 1983

She started crying again. Buried her face deep into Mike’s neck. Breathed him in. They held each other tight.

The pain was gone.
The misunderstandings too.

Ten years of separation had come to an end.

They didn’t know what the future would bring-but they knew one thing: neither of them could ever let the other go again.

They listened to each other breathe.

“Mike,” El whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Your daughter? She…” she asked, hesitating.

“Adoption.”

Mike could hear El exhale.

“She saved my life, El. Actually… you both did. When she wasn’t in my life yet, I was consuming every filthy habit in the world like water. I was at rock bottom-no, worse than that.

I was looking for you. Trying to find you without putting you in danger. One day I realized how miserably I was wasting the life you had given me. You had given up so much for me, and all I was doing was crying.

I couldn’t let your sacrifice be for nothing. I looked at your photo and pressed a kiss to it."

He gently pressed a kiss to the top of El’s head.

“'For you,' I whispered. When I woke up the next morning, I wanted to do things differently. It was the first day of my new life. Small changes-but definitely something different from the day before. I went out for coffee and bought a newspaper. There was an article about rising adoption rates. I thought about it. Wondered if I could do it. And I realized… I could. I went in and talked to them. It wasn’t easy.

El tightened her hold on Mike’s cheek, burrowing deeper into his neck. Even the slightest movement from her sent earthquakes through him.

“But I held on. To my love for you. To that belief inside me-that things could get better. Then the agency came and inspected my place. Where her room would be. Whether the house was safe. All of it.

Two months later, we met for the first time. A little girl. She was three-but for her age, her emotional and mental intelligence was incredible. And… I mean, I couldn’t believe it at first, El, but she looked so much like you.”

El lifted her head.

“Like me?”

“Yes. I know-it sounds impossible. But she really did. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I have a photo-it’s in my suitcase... The suitcase is in the car... I’m picking it up tomorrow. I’ll show you. You look so alike. And it’s not just me. Everyone said the same thing last Thanksgiving.”

His excitement spilled over-telling the love of his life about his daughter.
For real.
Not a dream.

Right?...

He suddenly grabbed El’s left wrist and pressed his thumb against the inside, right over her pulse.

He felt it.

She was alive.
This wasn’t a dream.
She was here.

He let out a deep breath.

El looked at him, startled-then she understood.

“I’m here, Mike. I’m here,” she said, her voice steady.

Mike cupped the woman’s right cheek with his left hand. His right arm was still wrapped around her. El lifted her right hand and caught the hand on her cheek by the wrist. They looked into each other’s eyes.

“Do you love him?” Mike asked. His voice trembled. He had to hear the answer.

“Who?”

“Stefán. Want to marry him?”

“No.”

Mike’s eyes dropped from El’s gaze to her lips in a heartbeat-and stayed there.

Watching him, El realized she was holding her breath. Mike’s hand was still on her cheek; the touch was trembling, but it didn’t pull away. El didn’t release the hand she was holding by the wrist. Instead, she leaned her head a little more into his palm.

“Mike…” she whispered.

When she said his name, her voice was clearer than it had been in years. It carried belonging.

Mike’s breath was close enough to brush her lips now. The little space left between them-ten years of silence, unsaid sentences, unfinished lives.

“Ten years,” Mike said quietly. “For ten years, I wasn’t living, El.”

El didn’t close her eyes. She wanted to live this moment while seeing him.

“Me neither,” she said. “I was just… getting through the days.”

Mike’s forehead touched El’s. Their lips still weren’t touching, but the electricity between them was almost painful. El’s breath faltered; when Mike felt it, there was no going back.

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then, as if there were no other possibility in the world, he leaned in.

He touched her lips first-so lightly. As if he were still testing whether this might be a dream. El didn’t pull back. On the contrary, she closed that tiny gap. Her fingers slid up to the nape of Mike’s neck.

The kiss began slowly.

Very slowly.

There was no rush. There was hunger, but it was reined in. When Mike’s lips met El’s, the first thing he felt wasn’t desire-it was relief. Like coming home. Like finally releasing a breath he’d been holding for years.

El closed her eyes.

In that moment, everything went quiet.

Her fingers tightened a little at the back of his neck. She pressed her lips to his just enough to answer him. Not too much. Not too little. Exactly as it should be.

The kiss wasn’t greedy.

It was gentle. Real.

Time stopped.

The kiss deepened, but it never slipped into chaos. It held longing. Hurt. Tears. Nightmares. Everything that would never be forgotten-but had been forgiven. When Mike finally pulled his lips away from El’s, their foreheads were still touching.

“Are you here?” he whispered again.

El smiled. A small smile-tired, but resolute.

“We’re here,” she said.

Mike closed his eyes, as if he were truly breathing for the first time.

And he kissed her again.

For ten years, fate had been silent; when it finally spoke, it silenced them both. And time-after ten long years-paid its debt to them at last.

Chapter Text

Mike had woken up to all kinds of mornings in his life.

There were the ones after thirteen-hour D&D campaigns, when he’d crashed in the basement with the Party and come to, surrounded by Dustin’s corpse-level farts, sweaty feet, and the thick, suffocating stink of teenage boys.
There was the morning he woke in a hospital bed with a tube up his nose, his throat burning because he’d swallowed every antidepressant the doctor had ever handed him.
There were mornings in the dorm, waking to the sound of his roommate having sex in the next bed.
Mornings wrecked by hangovers and nausea, the room spinning before he’d even opened his eyes.

And then there were the others.

Christmas mornings.

The day of his book launch.
The morning after his daughter slept in their home for the first time.
And the mornings when his little girl would climb into his bed with a sandwich she’d made all by herself and a glass of milk, half spilled onto the tray, half onto the floor, and kiss him awake like he was something worth saving.

If someone had asked him, “What kind of mornings did you imagine you’d wake up to in your lifetime?” he would have listed all of them, one by one.
But the morning he was waking up to right now would never have made that list.

Nothing could have prepared him for this morning.

Before Mike even opened his eyes, the first thing he felt was being watched. Sleep still clung to him as he slowly pried his eyelids apart, trying to focus, and then he saw El. She was there, looking at him. Not a stolen glance, not the kind of look you turn away from when you get caught, but a deliberate one. Calm. Chosen.

Something in Mike’s chest gave way, like a piece inside him had finally settled where it was always meant to be. There was no rush in her eyes, only stillness, a quiet, undemanding gaze so real it actually hurt.

His eyes opening to hers…
What a beautiful way to begin a day.

He thought about yesterday.

Jesus. What a day.

He’d come to Háifoss just to clear his head, to shake off the stress from the day before. And then he’d found the woman he’d lost ten years ago standing right there. After that he’d collapsed and hit his head. El and her closest friend, the one who was in love with her too, had brought him home. By the end of a conversation thick with tension, the woman he’d been in love with for fourteen years had stormed out, convinced he was married.

As if that wasn’t enough, the man in love with the same woman as him had served him soup, handed him his pills, rubbed gel into the bruise on his shoulder. Then he’d brought cake and tea and added a quiet, careful threat for good measure. They’d argued. They’d shouted.

Later that same man had spoken to her when she came back to the house. And she had decided to listen.
The misunderstandings had unraveled. He’d learned how El had ended up here. He’d told her about Jane and…

Jesus...

They’d hugged. They’d kissed. For minutes.

After that they’d talked about nothing in particular. No jobs, no memories, no family. Just light, easy things that didn’t require thinking ahead. After such an intense conversation, it had been a relief. When bedtime came, everyone retreated to their own rooms, choosing a quiet night to balance everything that had moved too fast during the day.

And now it was morning, and they were looking at each other. El had come into his room and was sitting in the same chair she’d pushed away in anger yesterday, watching him.

Truly, nothing could have prepared him for this moment, waking up to the eyes of the woman he’d spent ten years apart from, the love of his life.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” El said. Her voice was calm, warm, bright with energy.
“Morning… but sleepyhead? What time is it?” Mike replied, trying to take in the room. His voice came out rough, half excited, half tangled in sleep.

The difference in their tones made El laugh softly.
Mike’s smile answered her before he even realized it, spreading across his whole face.

“Almost ten,” she said, glancing at the clock.
“Not that late, then…”
“Well… I woke up at six, so…”
“What? What are you doing up that early? You a chicken or something?”
“Or something,” El laughed, then added,
“You know… chickens wake up early. And I look after them in the mornings.”
“You work on a farm?”
“Yeah. Three days a week. Anna and I rotate. The other two days I work part-time at a kindergarten.”
“Teaching? In a kindergarten?”

Mike’s eyes widened. El had always been a rare kind of soul; of course she belonged with kids. But teaching… right now he felt a pride he didn’t even know how to name.

“What do you teach? Preschool?”
“English.”
“Ah, El… I’m really happy for you. That’s amazing.”

El ducked her head with a shy smile, suddenly embarrassed. Mike watched her cheeks warm to pink and couldn’t stop smiling himself.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, hoping he’d find the strength to lift his head.
“Honestly, they could cut me open right now and I wouldn’t even notice. Not when I’ve found you…”

El closed her eyes for a moment, still smiling, even more flustered now.

“My head aches a little, that’s all. Other than that, I don’t feel much.”
“Kristin’s coming to check on you again today. The doctor from yesterday.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think I need it. I’m fine. Much better than yesterday. In every way…”

El’s cheeks were burning red now, and Mike couldn’t stop himself. How could he? All of this felt unreal. Last night they’d opened up to each other, poured everything out. There was still so much unsaid, of course, but the misunderstandings were gone. And most importantly, she was alive. His theory had been right, at least the part about her running away. He looked at El, who was watching him with that thoughtful expression.

“So.. my theory was right,” he said, distracted.
“What theory?”
“I just…” He really did wonder how much of it had been true.

“Listen... At first I honestly thought you were dead. I mean… in the first few months I believed you’d come back. But as the months passed, my head got more and more messed up. When you still hadn’t returned after a year, I believed what the others believed. That you were gone.
Then at graduation, after Dustin’s speech, Principal Higgins got furious. The echo from the microphone… it reminded me of the kryptonite.”

At the word kryptonite, El’s face tightened for a second. Mike pushed himself up in bed and sat upright. He patted the empty space beside him, inviting her closer. When El sat down, he turned toward her and went on.

“Then it hit me,” he said. “When they unloaded us from the truck, there were soldiers everywhere. The kryptonite was out in the open. There was no way you could’ve walked through that. You would’ve had to go around the truck, and with the soldiers and the kryptonite, that was impossible.
But the truck was close to the Radio Shack in the back. And that place connected to the tunnel. You must’ve escaped through there.”
He paused, then smiled.

“After graduation I wanted to do one last D&D campaign with the Party. They actually wanted to go to Stacey Albright’s party, but I convinced them. It turned into a campaign where Max absolutely lost it, kicking things and throwing stuff around.”

They both laughed. A flicker of longing for her friends crossed El’s face. Mike noticed and didn’t push.

“I won’t go into details,” he said, not wanting to hurt her. “At the end of the campaign I told them my theory. They thought it made sense too. I said you were somewhere peaceful, somewhere no one could reach, not even us. I told them I believed, and they said they believed too. Then we handed the place over to Holly and her friends.
Those kids messed everything up with their greasy chip fingers, but I have to admit, the basement smelled better than when our guys were there. Except for Derek. That kid alone is worth two Lucases and three Dustins.”
“No way,” El said, laughing.

“He is... So... was I right? My theory,” Mike asked, suddenly serious.“I told you,” she said softly. “You always understand me.”
“Okay, but how was I right? I mean… wow.”
“This isn’t the first time. You’ve always done that. You always knew. When no one else could feel it, you were the one who did. You always knew. If you noticed, I wasn’t even surprised. I figured you’d figure it out.”

Mike nodded.

“Yeah. But it took a while,” he said. This time he wasn’t smiling. He looked at El for a long moment, then took her hands.

“But listen… I never gave up on you. I knew searching for you could put your safety at risk, so I didn’t act like I was searching. I traveled like a normal person. Cultural stuff.
But deep down I was hoping, desperately, that you’d show up somewhere I went. I couldn’t do anything else. I was basically waiting for the universe to help me out. Hoping was all I had. The thought of never finding you was eating me alive from the inside. Because there isn’t a universe where I’m whole without you, El. In every universe without you, I’m only half a man.”

He stared at the curtained window across the room for a while, then turned back to her eyes.

“As the years went by, I started imagining you’d moved on, maybe had a boyfriend, maybe even got married, had kids, forgotten me. And if I’d found you like that, what was I supposed to do? Walk up and say, ‘Hey El, remember we used to be in love’? I would’ve just made sure you were safe and happy, then left it there. Maybe I would’ve kept going. But after what happened yesterday, I realized that wasn’t true. I was lying to myself.”

He looked away from her. El waited.

“And I lied to you yesterday, too. About the book. I mean… not exactly lied, but… yeah. I am trying to write the ending. I’ve got writer’s block. And I really have been going to the waterfalls to clear my head so I can finish it. But that wasn’t the real reason.
I just convinced myself it was. Everywhere I went, I was looking to see if you were there, but I needed an excuse to keep making those trips, to find the strength to keep going. So I put the book first. That’s what I told everyone. What I told myself.
But my real purpose was always to find you. The moment I made searching for you my priority, I started going crazy. Because you weren’t there, El. I couldn’t handle being without you.”

He took a deep breath, then met her eyes again.

“If that cashier at Kirkjufellsfoss hadn’t recommended this place, I never would’ve found you. I would’ve stayed in that hotel room and eaten myself alive. That’s when I understood it: my only goal was to find you. The ending of the book was secondary.
I was going to wander around a little, buy some souvenirs. Tomorrow I would’ve gone back to Hawkins empty-handed. I would’ve picked up Jane, gone to Chicago. Jane would’ve started school, and I would’ve forced some kind of ending onto the book, no matter how bad it was.
And I would’ve kept living as a half man.”

There was a short pause. He was leaving tomorrow… Mike didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t ready to face the anxiety of going back or what the uncertainty between them would turn into.

“Come to think of it… I owe that cashier a lot. If I can, I should stop by on the way out. No amount of thanks would be enough, but it’s better than nothing.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes again. Mike was more than willing to get lost in them. He could have stayed like that all day. By the time they realized how close they’d drifted, their foreheads were already touching. He could feel El’s breath quickening against his lips.

They were only a heartbeat away from closing the distance when-

The doorbell rang.

Mike frowned and muttered a quiet curse. El laughed at the disappointment on his face and went to open the door.

It was Stefán.

“Góðan daginn, pirrandi!”
(Morning, grumpy!) he said, a huge grin spreading across his face. There was no trace of the way El had seen him last; he was overflowing with cheer. Or maybe he was forcing himself not to fall apart. El would’ve bet all her money on the second option. Because when Stefán was stressed, he laughed too much, moved too much, and cooked. Even yesterday’s cake had been a stress symptom. He didn’t even realize it. Whenever he was tense, he made blueberry cake. If he’d been happy, it would’ve been something with citrus.
And yesterday’s cake had definitely been blueberry-and even though El hated the idea of him feeling that way, blueberry cake was her favorite. Sorry, Stefán.

Today he’d made a ton of pastries. And she meant a ton. He waved the tray in front of El’s eyes like a UFO, complete with sound effects.

“Góðan daginn, rasshaus!”
(Morning, asshole!) El shot back, smiling.

Stefán clutched his heart in mock offense, laughing. Then, with that same grin, he yelled into the house,
“GOOD MORNING, MIKE!”

Mike stepped out of his room with a smile, and Stefán looked at their matching expressions, wiggling his eyebrows up and down in that familiar, suggestive way.
El widened her eyes, fighting not to laugh while trying to throw him a murderous glare. Stefán didn’t care in the slightest; he squinted and sent her an even bigger grin.
“Morning, Stef,” Mike said as he reached the door. They shook hands with Stefán’s free hand.

“I brought breakfast. My mom help me.” Stefán said. “You will love this pas...hmmm..pastries! so much. Really. You make me president of whole world.”
He lifted the cloth from the tray, and the house filled with the warm smell of fresh dough.
“Come, come! Chop chop! We have things to do. Your cars miss waterfall air, I think. Eat first, then we go get them. I mean…I drop you there, after I go training.”

He paused, then added with a grin,

“Look like you two not planning to kill each other-yes, Terry, I talk mostly to you- so you will be fine.
Only one favor: don’t miss me too much.”

He paused for a moment, then asked, genuinely curious,

“So? My English… good or very good?”

“If you spoke it all the time, you’d be native level by now… but I doubt you ever will,” El said, taking the tray from him and heading inside.

Stefán shrugged, throwing his hands up. “What I can do? She always find something to complain,” he said, glancing at Mike.
Mike laughed in response, and the two of them walked into the house together.

“I can’t even feel my stomach. I think I’m having some kind of food coma,” Mike said, trying to breathe despite the stuffed weight pressing up against his lungs. Okay, the pastries had been incredible, but they were like snacks-dangerous, sneaky snacks-and he hadn’t even realized how many he’d eaten. El, long used to Stefán’s delicious acts of treachery, had learned to hold herself back. Stefán, meanwhile, had somehow managed to eat eighteen pastries and was now wiping his hands on a napkin while staring at the ones left on the tray with open hunger.

“The weather is very good today,” Stefán said, still eyeing the pastries like they might try to escape. “If you don’t have plan, you make one fast. You not find day like this again.”

“First we need to get the cars and come back here. All Mike’s stuff is in his car. After that maybe we go to the town center, or maybe… I don’t know, we’ll figure something out,” El said.

“Okay,” Stefán nodded. “But if you have plan like Northern Lights, be here in evening. Einar thinks it can happen tonight. If you want join, we will be at forest road area.” 

When El went to her room to get dressed, Mike took his pills and started clearing the table with Stefán.

“So… you solved the problems,” Stefán said. “She look like she don’t want to cut you anymore.”

“Yeah… it went well. There were a lot of misunderstandings. We didn’t talk about everything, but we handled most of the important parts.”

“I’m glad.” Stefán set the washed glass on the towel, then turned to Mike, who was rinsing plates. “Listen, Mike. I’m so sorry for how I talked yesterday. I was just not want her to be hurt. I never wanted to come between she and you. My words sound..ed like that, I know, but believe me, I’m not that person... kind of person. She was just… always sad. Even in the years when she looked happy, I saw her punish herself for be happy. She is good person, and I only want her to have good life. I hope you don’t see me like stupid guy.”

“Stef, listen. I didn’t think that. Yeah, I was angry at first, but I’m glad good people showed up in her life. She told me how she got here. If you hadn’t helped her that day, maybe we wouldn’t be standing here now. I don’t know what you said to her yesterday, but after you left, she didn’t lock herself in her room. She listened to me. Whatever you said, I’m grateful.”

He paused, then added, with a deliberate smile, “Buddy.”

“I’m glad,” Stefán echoed, pausing as well. “Buddy,” he repeated, copying Mike’s tone with a grin.

They finished cleaning the kitchen, got dressed, and once everyone was ready, they headed out of the house together.

Because he’d been unconscious on the way here, he hadn’t seen the beauty of the town at all. And afterward he hadn’t left the house. So this was the first time he was really taking it in. The cold sunlight hitting the snow-covered streets gave him a sense of peace the moment he looked out. Kids throwing snowballs, neighbors chatting over tea, the distant sounds of cows and chickens-this place felt like a refuge scrubbed clean of the world’s chaos. Something in his chest loosened for the first time in days.

He heard Stefán talking to his car.
“Monster… Sweetheart. Hvernig líður þér í dag?”

Mike took the front seat while El climbed into the back beside Stefán’s hockey gear. And they set off toward Háifoss, toward the place where, the day before, the second great collision of their lives had happened.

Before this, the first had been when Hopper hid El away. But this-this was the biggest thing that had happened to them since the day they met. They didn’t say it out loud, but they both knew it.

When Mike saw his car from a distance, all of yesterday rushed back and seized him again. Not even a dream could hold this much. The fact that she was here now, sitting in the back seat of this car, felt impossible. Stefán parked and pointed.

“Look! Terry’s ‘not a monster, but with potential’ car and next, your baby, Mike! Go hug your car, buddy.”

Mike laughed and got out. El followed. They waved to Stefán and were left alone beside their cars.

“Want to go to the waterfall? This time without getting injured,” El said, smiling.

“Not getting injured sounds great, honestly. I didn’t really get to see the waterfall anyway. Let me grab Jane’s photo from the car, then we’ll go. There are things I want to tell you about her.”

“I’d like that.”

Mike unzipped the front pocket of his suitcase and took out a small album. Once the doors were locked, they started walking toward the waterfall. The tension between them was gone now. There was only everything they wanted to tell each other, everything they still hadn’t said.

“So… what’s life like here?” Mike asked, just to get the conversation moving.

“I mean… it’s a nice place. Peaceful. You’ve seen it-everyone just lives normally, fights are rare, and even those are about small things. It’s quiet.”

“Yeah, I can see that. But I meant beyond the place itself. Are you happy, El? Do you ever… I don’t know… want to come ba-”

“There’s no point talking about things you know I can’t do,” she cut in, her voice sharp.

“Why not? It’s over now, El. I swear to you, it’s over. The war’s over, the Soviets are gone. There’s nothing left for anyone to hunt you for.”

“Wars never end, Mike. They just change shape. Someone will always try to be above someone else. And no matter who it is, they’ll always push the limits to win.”

She was right. Unfortunately, she was right. Events changed, names changed, but the one thing that never changed was greedy, bloodsucking people. It had always been that way, and it always would be.

They kept walking in silence. El found the quiet uncomfortable. Looking for something to talk about, her eyes caught the dinosaur clipped to Mike’s backpack.

“What’s the dinosaur for?”

“What? Oh… this is Mr. Traveler. Jane’s travel dinosaur. She takes him with us whenever we go somewhere. He’s in all the photos. He even has his own album. She couldn’t come this time. Last year in Norway she got really sick, flu almost turned into pneumonia. It was rough. So I left her with my parents after Thanksgiving, and now she’s got everyone wrapped around her finger, including my dad.”

They both laughed.

“She sounds adorable. Six is a cute age anyway. The grandparents here practically worship their grandkids too.”

“Yeah… and they actually only just met her. Before this Thanksgiving, no one even knew about her. Not my family, not the Party. Telling them over the phone or in a letter didn’t feel right. And I couldn’t go back to Hawkins.” He went quiet, then added almost in a whisper, “I couldn’t find the strength to go.”

El understood. She only nodded.

“But that day everyone was there. I was expecting it to be tense, but they warmed up to each other fast. Especially Hop and-”

Mike stopped instantly. The rest of that sentence would hurt her.

“How is he?” El asked softly. “I know he married Joyce and they moved out of Hawkins.”

“Believe me, that’s about all I know too. After I left, I didn’t really keep track of who was doing what. Everyone moved away, and we stayed in touch when we could, but… at first I was busy dealing with myself. Then Jane came into my life, and I dedicated everything to her. I shut myself off from anything that wasn’t about taking care of her, healing with her. We spent whatever free time we had seeing new places. We built good memories.”

“That’s wonderful, Mike. I’m glad you’re happy-really, I am. Yesterday… I misunderstood at first and got angry, but you should know I always wanted you to be okay. It’s just that everything hit at once, and then when you asked about Stefán… you know, in that tone… it just came out like that.”

“If it helps my defense, I didn’t mean for my voice to sound like that. It just did. And honestly, it could’ve been possible, El. He’s a good man.”

“He is, but like I said last night, he’s just a close friend. And… he’s a good person, but I don’t feel that way about him.”

“Great!” Mike said too quickly. Then he blushed. He looked down at the path and kept walking in silence. El pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh.

She felt exactly the way Mike did. She’d been living a half life all this time too. She had walked this path almost every day. The waterfalls were the place where she felt closest to Mike. They were theirs. She’d never sat there chatting with friends, never shared it with anyone. That place belonged only to him and to her. And every time she walked toward the falls, she imagined Mike beside her.

And today, she really was walking with him.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The climb had made him sweat. His beard was longer now than the day he arrived. She’d never seen his hair this short before, but it suited him. The last time she’d seen him in person he’d been sixteen. Even then she’d seen him as more than a boy-Mike had always carried himself like something older-but the twenty-six-year-old man walking beside her now was different. The lost years stung.

He’s alive, she thought.
Alive-and here.

But he would leave tomorrow.

Yeah… she didn’t want to think about it, but he would leave, and he’d said she could come back. She couldn’t. They would find her. They always did.

As if he could read her mind, Mike pulled her out of her thoughts.

“Hey, El… I need to say something. I mean… you told me you have another identity now. No one would know it’s you. I don’t even live in Hawkins anymore-no one’s left there. Chicago’s different. The place where I live actually looks a bit like here. Quiet, not much noise. Or… there’s Hopper’s place. I’m not saying you have to come with me. You could go to Hopper too. He’d handle things, I know he would. I just-”

“Mike.”
She stopped. Now they were facing each other.

“They have my photo. They’ll recognize me from the picture on the ID. I need you to understand. I built a life here. I’m not completely happy, no… but I’m safe. I’m outside. I’m not walking through tunnels anymore. I can go to town, do my shopping, go to the movies. I’m living. Maybe I just…” She trailed off and looked past Mike’s shoulder into the distance.

“Maybe you should just do what you planned. Know that I’m here, alive and safe, and… just keep going.”

“So… yesterday…” Mike’s feelings were a mess now. He wanted to gather his thoughts, choose the right words. He continued carefully. “Yesterday I thought maybe… maybe we could give us a chance. Again. But I’m not trying to pressure you. I just… I felt that way. I still feel for you, and I thought maybe you felt the same.”

He felt stupid. He couldn’t even look into her eyes.

“Anyway… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have- I rushed this. I shouldn’t have.”

“Mike… stop.” She stepped closer. “I need you to understand something. It’s not that I don’t want to. 'I can’t'. I can’t come with you. If you want to come here, my door is wide open. But I can’t leave, and you can’t tell the others. I can’t risk this safe life. I don’t have the strength to go through all of that again. I really don’t. I can’t.” she said, then stopped. He turned toward her.

Suddenly El reached out, her left hand wrapping around his back, her right slipping into his hair. Mike hadn’t moved to hug her. As El kept holding him, her eyes were already filling.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Mike wrapped his arms around her at once. They both closed their eyes and listened to each other’s breathing and the roar of the waterfall.

“I understand,” Mike said. “I really do. But my heart doesn’t. It doesn’t want to let you go again now that I’ve found you. It wants you to come with me-or it wants to stay here with you. It doesn’t want to go back to a life without you.”

“I can’t come, Mike. And you can’t stay. You have a family, you have your daughter. You can’t just walk away and live here. Not because I don’t want you-I don’t want anyone more than I want you. But remember, Mike, this isn’t a soap opera. No one’s going to write us a happy ending just because we deserve one.
But… I’m here. If you want to see me, I’ll always be here. I promise. You’ll always be welcome.”

El started walking. Mike followed a little behind her. He wasn’t talking, wasn’t reacting. They reached the flat ground by the waterfall. Mike turned.

“Sometimes we just have to be content with what we’re given, Mike. Think about yesterday morning. You were on your way here, and I was sitting here missing you. We didn’t even know about each other. And now look-we’re side by side. Maybe this should be enough. Maybe this is all this life has for us.”

She breathed in the waterfall air.

“Come on. Let’s sit by the falls and live what we’ve been given all the way. Show me Jane’s photo-you said she looks like me and you still haven’t shown it, I’m dying to see her. Tell me about Jane, tell me about the book, about the part you’re stuck on at the end. I want to sit at the waterfalls we used to dream about and listen to you. With you beside me… not just in my head. We need this. Come on.”

She took his hand, laced her fingers through his, and pulled him toward the waterfall, toward the place she had never brought anyone else, her sacred spot.

As she brushed the thin layer of snow from the rock she always sat on, today she cleared the snow from the stone beside it as well.

They sat and watched the water.

They were sixteen again now. No Henry, no army, no Upside Down, no fear.
Just El and Mike.
At the place they had dreamed about.
At the place they had promised.
Belonging to each other.

“I told you, she looks so much like you. And it’s not just that. One word, one look, and she gets exactly what she wants. Just like you.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Sure… you never did.”

“I didn’t,” she said, laughing.

“Of course, you didn't,” Mike murmured with a grin.

They were going through the album of Jane’s photos now. Mike was telling the stories behind them.

“This one’s from Disneyland. When she realized Mickey Mouse was, like, six feet tall, she started crying. I got her ice cream to calm her down, but it didn’t help. She ate the ice cream while crying-but like this.”
He started acting it out with his hands.
“She’d cry a little, then stop. A minute later she’d remember again, start crying, and keep eating the ice cream at the same time. That’s how the whole day went. After that she never watched Mickey Mouse again.”

“Aw, poor little thing…”

“I’m laughing about it now, but that day was rough. She’s growing up, though. Now we’ve got problems that have nothing to do with Mickey Mouse. We’ve got Benjamin…”

“Benjamin?”

“Kid from school. Benjamin. They’re obsessed with each other. Apparently they’re getting married and everything.”

“That’s so cuuuute.”

“It is NOT cute!”

“Don’t be jealous, daddy. It’s innocent and adorable.”

“Her wanting to get married is adorable? Come on, El…”

“They’re kids.”

“Exactly! And kids don’t get married.”

“You know you sound like Hop, right?” She did a deep, rough Hop voice, doing a perfect imitation. “Hey! Three-inch minimum!”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and the moment she realized what she’d said, her face fell.

“Hey, El…” Mike wrapped his left arm around her back. “Are you sure you don’t want him to know? He deserves to. Listen… I don’t know how to say this, but he still hurts. Last time I saw him, we talked, and he still misses you so much. When he saw how much Jane looks like you, when he heard her name-his face went completely white. You matter to him. You’re missed. Everyone misses you.”

He took a deep breath. Tears were running down El’s face.

“Yeah, they moved on, they held on to things-but they never forgot. They never forgot the person who saved their lives, the one who made it possible for them to live. Even Jane, who never met you in person…”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to say it. He looked at the waterfall, watched the way it roared with that steady, towering force. Then he looked past it, at the town that had kept the love of his life safe for ten years.

“I told you Jane has a special thing for Hopper, remember?”

El nodded.

“Jane knows about you. About who we were. Not the parts about your powers-but she knows you. And she loves you. She loves the stories about you, our memories. She knows her name comes from you.”

El hadn’t expected that. She’d always assumed the girl’s real name was simply Jane. She stared at Mike, stunned.

“Yeah… I just… you know… she looks like you and… I wanted it to be that way. I thought she should carry something of you with her… What was I saying? Right. And because she knew your last name, Hopper, when we went back to Hawkins and she met him, she connected the dots and realized he was your father. I went down to the basement with Holly and Jane was playing with LEGO when I left. When I came back, she was asleep in Hopper’s arms. Head on his chest, out cold. My dad was right there, my mom was there, Nancy was there. I don’t know, she seemed to get along with Dustin too. But she chose Hopper. She wants to find you. She wants to see you. She loves you, El -even though she’s only ever seen you in a photo. Because that’s who you are. You’re someone people love.”

He tried to hold back his own tears. For a second he hovered between saying more and stopping.

Do it, Michael.
Years ago you couldn’t say the things you wanted to say, and look what happened. Life punished you for it. You had to write what you couldn’t tell her into books, into letters she would never read, whisper it to the night. But she’s here now. With you. You have a chance. Life decided you’ve suffered enough. You’ve been paroled. Do it. No more hiding, no more holding back. You’ll regret what you don’t say. You know you still have feelings for her. Say it.

Say it.

He turned to El. Took her hands tightly in his. Looked straight into her eyes with resolve. El was completely stunned now, eyes wide as she stared back at him. Mike began to speak, steady and certain.

“We belong to each other, El. If we didn’t, we would’ve figured that out by now and gone our separate ways. But we didn’t. This isn’t some simple childhood love -you know that. And me… my whole life is you. The books I wrote, the things I have- they all exist because of you. I even owe Jane to you. Without you, I couldn’t have done it.”

“Mike, don-” El started.

He shook his head quickly and kept going.

“I couldn’t, El. I know that. I wouldn’t have taken a single step toward getting better. I wouldn’t have let Jane into my life. I probably would’ve overdosed and died years ago.”

He saw the fear in her eyes.
I shouldn’t have said that last part, he thought.

“I mean… if I take you out of my life, there’s nothing left. And you could’ve moved on too. Why didn’t you? Stef is a really good man. He would’ve made you happy. Why didn’t you want him? We both know the answer, El. We belong to each other.”

“Mike… I can’t...”

“We’ll find a way. Just don’t give up on us.”

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“They’ll find us. And this time it won’t just be the two of us in danger. Mike, be reasonable… please.”

Her voice was trembling now, her eyes starting to fill.

“Think about Jane. We’d be putting her in danger too. I can’t stand the idea of another child losing her childhood, Mike. I can’t bear another kid living in fear. I don’t want her walking on glass her whole life.”

She took a deep breath and looked at the waterfall for a while.

“Accept it, Mike. This is what was written for us. This is the best we get to live. You have to go back. I have to stay.”

Tears were running down her face now; she didn’t even try to wipe them away.

“You have to see that I’m okay and keep going. You have to finish your book, raise Jane, keep being a wonderful dad to her. And if… if she’s going to have a mother, you have to find someone who deserves-”

“No. No, El. If Jane’s going to have a mother, I only want it to be you. That’s what Jane would want too. I don’t want anyone else.”

“You have to accept it, Mike. We have to accept it. This morning you said, ‘there isn’t a universe where I’m whole without you. In every universe without you, I’m only half a man.”

She paused.

“There isn’t a universe where I’m whole without you either, Mike. But there isn’t a universe where we can be whole together, either. We have to accept that and live with it.”

“They can’t find us here,” Mike whispered.

“What?”

“I said they can’t find us here. For God’s sake, El. The old woman’s daughter was missing and they gave you her identity. Does this look like a place where everything runs by the book? I’m sure no one outside this town even knows that girl was missing in the first place. They can’t find us here.”

“You can’t...”

“Don’t you want me to?”

“Mike. Be reasonable. You have a daughter.”

“And? Don’t they have schools here? You’re a teacher yourself. However kids here get educated, she can too.”

“She doesn’t speak the language.”

“She’ll learn, trust me. Before I even learn how to say hello, she’ll know everything. She’s already on her third language. Wait until she talks to you for seven hours straight about crustaceans and dinosaurs.”

“Don’t push her.”

“I’m not pushing her. She wants to find you. She loves you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“She does.”

“MIKE, YOU’RE DREAMING!” El shouted. Her voice bounced off the waterfalls and slammed back into his ears in echoes.

“YES, I AM DREAMING!” Mike shot back.

“I’VE BEEN DREAMING OF YOU COMING BACK TO ME SINCE THE DAY YOU LEFT. BECAUSE YOU WALKED AWAY. YOU SAID GOODBYE WITHOUT TELLING ME THE TRUTH. IT WASN’T EVEN A REAL GOODBYE-JUST VOID. YOU’D ALREADY MADE YOUR PLAN BEFORE YOU GOT ON THAT TRUCK. YOU’D GIVEN UP ON US.”

Mike couldn’t stop himself. The things he’d thought ten years ago, stuck in the anger stage of grief, were pouring out of him now.

“WE WERE GOING TO RUN. WE WEREN’T GOING TO STAY.
SO I HAD A FUTURE, HUH? A BRIGHT ONE? YEAH-FUCK THAT KIND OF FUTURE.
I WAS DYING. I WANTED TO DIE… I ALMOST SUCCEEDED, AND SOMEHOW THEY DRAGGED ME BACK. EVERY NIGHT IN THAT DAMN HAWKINS I GOT DRUNK OUT OF MY MIND-NANCY FOUND ME IN MY OWN VOMIT, EVERY NIGHT. I SAT BY THE CABIN AND BEGGED YOU TO COME BACK. I EVEN FELL AT HOPPER’S FEET SO HE’D TELL ME WHERE YOU WERE IF HE KNEW.”

The trembling took over his body.
El was looking at him with tear-filled eyes.

He had hurt her.

“What did you do, then?” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. His hands were shaking.
“You moved here and built a life.”

He gestured vaguely at the world around them.

“Couldn’t we have done this together? Couldn’t we have run that night and come here together? Couldn’t we have spent those ten years side by side? Built a life here, had kids?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Was it easier without me? Was I the thing holding you back? Fine… have it your way, El. It’s fine. Really.”

His anger was starting to flare again.

"I’ll just go back to my miserable, half-finished life. I’ll even write the ending to the book like this:
The Mage sent a message to Miles. She said she didn’t want him anymore, that she was starting a new life. Miles went on living his pathetic, wretched existence. And Eleanor had another friend where she went -one who was in love with her.
There -perfect, right?

Because if Miles is braver than Mike and can tell Eleanor he loves her, then Eleanor is braver than El and tells Miles, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY LIFE!"

He looked at her.

"But you don’t have to be brave like Eleanor. I got the message"

She was frozen.

“Alright, El. I wish you happiness with your Stefán.”
He said the name like it burned his tongue.

“Mike, please-”

“I saw the way he looks at you.”

Mike didn’t slow down.

“Like you’re something he already decided to keep safe. Like the whole damn world makes sense as long as you’re standing in it.”

“That doesn’t mean I-”

“The way you relax around him like the world isn’t on fire anymore. He’s charming, handsome, strong, dependable… everything I wasn’t allowed to be for you.”

“Mike, stop twisting this-”

“Hell, you make sense together.”

His voice cracked but he kept going.

“The steady, always-there-for-you Iceland guy who stayed and the girl who learned how to live without me.”

“Don’t do this, you’re wrong-”

“And I get it,” he cut in again.
“He cared for you. He cooked for you. He stood between you and whatever came next. I can see how much he loves you. I’m not blind, El.”

“I don’t feel that way about him, I swear-”

“And I HATE that I’m jealous,” Mike said, louder now, drowning her out.
“I hate that I walked into a life you built with him already standing in the middle of it. I HATE THAT I’M THE OUTSIDER IN A STORY THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE OURS!”

“Mike, listen to me-”

“So yeah... choose the safe one.” 

The words came sharp, final.

“Choose the guy who knows how to stay calm -who makes you laugh, who can pull you into his arms and kiss the top of your head like it’s nothing. The easy, always-there-for-you guy who keeps you together. THE ONE WHO DIDN’T SPEND TEN YEARS BLEEDING OUT IN YOUR ABSENCE!”

“Mike -no, it’s not like that, I don’t-” she started.

Mike’s voice dropped. Raw now. Stripped of anger. Stripped of everything.

“I’ve loved you for fourteen years, El.

Ten of them without you and I never stopped. I learned how to live around a wound that had your name on it. You weren’t some memory I visited sometimes. You were the place I never left. I woke up every morning choosing you, even when there was nothing left of us but silence.”

She shook her head, reaching for him.

“Mike, please- I-”

“You were my whole damn life,” he said quietly. “And you don’t even want me.”

A beat. Like something in him finally shut.

“Alright, then.”

His voice hardened just enough to keep from breaking.

“I’m going back to my daughter.”

Tears were already running down her face.

“Mike…”

“Don’t, El. Save it. I’m done.”
The words tasted familiar -hers, from another life.

“Goodbye, Terry.”

The name hit her like cold water.

For a second she didn’t breathe.
Not El.
Not the girl he’d loved.

Terry.

The person she had invented to survive.

She frozen. The world seemed to tilt, the waterfall suddenly too loud, the sun too bright, the snow too white.

“Don’t… don’t call me that,” she whispered.

He put the photo album back into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and looked at her one last time. El was shaking her head like if she denied it hard enough, the moment would rewind.

He turned and started walking fast toward his car.

“Mike!”

Her voice cracked against the cold air.

“MIKE!”

Snow crunched under his boots. He didn’t slow.

“MIKE, STOP!”

He didn’t care.

His heart was shattered

He’d never imagined it could break this badly, but here it was... loud, humiliating, real. She had built a life, and she didn’t want him in it anymore. That was the only truth left. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he was never enough. He felt ashamed of his helplessness.. ashamed of begging again, of standing there like a fool asking to be chosen. Furious at himself for not learning, for not moving on, for still being the same idiot who believed love could outrun time.

By the time he reached the car, El was still running after him, breathless, shouting his name.

He looked at her one last time.

The look in his eyes stopped her where she stood.

She was still some distance away, yet close enough to understand exactly what that look meant:
don’t follow me.

The sun hung pale over the snow, bright but useless, warming nothing.

He turned his back.

Got into the car.

And as the engine came to life, he heard it -soft, almost lost to the wind.

“Please…”

Just that.

One word.

Then he pulled onto the road to Reykjavík.

Chapter Text

Mike thought the sheer force of the waterfalls had finally managed to shut his brain up.

Finally, he told himself, his shoulders loosening
Finally, silence.

After a seven-hour drive that had felt less like a trip and more like a slow form of torture, he’d been able to stop-just for a moment-at the roaring triple falls of Kirkjufellsfoss. The crash of water slamming into water bulldozed every sentence inside his head.

But no… not really.

This wasn’t peace -just a short break.
The voices in his head hadn’t really gone quiet-not completely.
He couldn’t stay here forever. And they knew it. They were waiting like a virus, patient and smug-ready to attack the second they found an opening. The second it got quiet again.

He didn’t see the cashier. Day off, apparently.

“What was I gonna do anyway?” he muttered. His lips twisted into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

Hey, remember him? You gave him an idea that could’ve changed his life and he still burned the whole damn thing to the ground.

There they were again. The voices.

No escape.

You deserve it.

“I chose this,” Mike whispered. The words stuck to his throat the second they left his mouth.

And the morning had started so well.

He’d opened his eyes and El was there-looking at him like she actually loved him. She’d listened. She’d cared about Jane. For a moment, it had felt like anything was possible.

But Mike and his cursed instinct to plan everything into ruin had done what they always did-wrecked the day.

He was leaving tomorrow.
When he’d arrived, he’d had nothing-zero.
At least zero wasn’t a minus.

Now what he had was a seven-digit number with a giant negative sign in front of it.

Short version: he was wrecked.

He closed his eyes. Let out a breath.

And surrendered himself to the brutal, merciless sound of the falls.

“‘Goodbye, Terry,’ huh?”

Mike felt his stomach drop.

That wasn’t a thought.
That was real.

He started to turn toward the voice.

“Don’t.”

El’s voice wasn’t loud.
Not soft either.
It was a command.

“Don’t turn around.”

Mike froze.
The snow under his boots felt like concrete.

“You’re going to stand exactly where you are,” she said,
“and you’re going to listen to me.”

Cold ran down the back of his neck.

You earned this.

“You really thought,” El went on, each word pushed through her teeth,
“that you could say whatever you wanted, drop a bomb in my hands, and just walk away without hearing a single word back?”

Mike inhaled-too loud.
He hated himself for it.

“No-”

“You. Don’t. Talk.”

She didn’t even give him a second.

“Face forward. Shut up. And listen.”

His jaw tightened.
Tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth.

And for one stupid, treacherous second-his mind betrayed him.

He thought of the dream.

The night in the hotel.

El was beside him in a purple coat, older, real in a way dreams usually weren’t.
She’d pointed at the falls and said “Three.”
He’d laughed. “I was right. They really are there.”

You said you’d bring me here, she’d told him.
I was late, but-
I don’t care, Mike. We’re here.

They’d sat in front of the water like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Her head on his shoulder.
His arm around her.
The smell of her hair.
Nothing hurting.
Nothing broken.

Then I don’t want to wake up.

And now-

Mike swallowed.

In the dream she’d smiled at him.
In the dream she’d held his hand.
In the dream he’d been forgiven without begging for it.

Here, she wouldn’t even let him turn around.

The irony hit like cold water.

He had crossed an ocean for a miracle and ended up standing in front of the same waterfall-
not as the man she rested against

The version of him in the dream had deserved her.
This one didn’t.

“I’m so angry with you I don’t even know where to start,” El said.

Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence.
Mike heard it.

Clearer than the waterfall.

Because in the dream she’d said We’re here.
And in reality she was saying You don’t get to talk.

Same place.
Same woman.
Two completely different endings.

Mike kept his eyes on the snow.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe too loud.

He’d wanted that dream to be a promise.

Turned out it was a warning.

“I’m so angry with you I don’t even know where to start...”

“...And that makes me even angrier.”

He stared at the snow.
He couldn’t see her.
But he could feel her-right behind him, burning.

“When I told you yesterday what I went through, I thought you understood,” she said.
“Because you used to. You were the one who understood.”

A pause.

“But you didn’t.”

Her voice sharpened again.

“You didn’t understand why I had to leave.
Why I couldn’t take you with me.
What I had to risk just to stay alive.”

Mike’s palms went wet.
He made fists. Then opened them.

No defense.
No excuses.

“Having a home... Being free...” El said.
“Those are words you’ve never had to earn, Mike. You’ve never been homeless. You’ve never had to become someone else to survive.”

The word hit him like a slap.

Never.

“You think you were the only one bleeding?” she continued.
“You think I packed a suitcase, got on a boat, and just… started over like I was choosing between cities?”

A bitter laugh.

“I slept in places you wouldn’t even call room. I was cold. I hadn’t showered in days. I learned how to lie before I learned how to breathe again. I changed my name, my face, the way I looked at people-just to make it to the next morning.”

Her boots crunched closer.

“And you stand there and talk about what we could have done together.”

Mike flinched.

“You think I didn’t want you?”
The question cut sideways.

"You really think I didn’t want to come back to you?”

She exhaled hard.

“And now… ten years later,” El said,
“you stand in front of me with your speeches, your book metaphors, your jealousy-talking like you were the only one bleeding all this time.”

Another step closer.

“You don’t get to act like I chose a happy life while you suffered alone.
You don’t get to rewrite what I survived just because you never listened.”

Silence fell between them, heavy as the snow.

“I drove seven hours today,” she said quietly.
“Seven hours. Because you don’t get to decide when this conversation ends.”

Her voice trembled-just once.

“So no. You don’t walk away.
Not after you set the whole room on fire and left me standing in it.”

“You don’t understand,” El said, her voice not rising, just growing heavier.
“Not anymore. And I was stupid enough to think you still understood me.”

A faint tremor slipped into her words.

Mike tried not to picture her face.
He knew if he really looked at her now, he would hate himself even more.

“I was so stupid,” she whispered.

Then the anger came back.

Not clean anger.
Wet anger-soaked in tears, knotted in the throat, the kind that burns on the way out.

“Even an enemy wouldn’t say the things you said to me,” El said.
“How did you say them, Mike? Why are you trying so hard to hurt me?”

Mike’s throat burned.

“You suffered and I didn’t?”
El’s voice truly shook this time.
“I suffered more than you ever did!”

Mike breathed in and out.
Even the waterfall couldn’t carry the weight of that sentence.

“You think it’s easy,” El continued,
“to leave the people you love, the place you called home, at sixteen-and try to find somewhere safe?”

Her words came faster now.

“To start from nothing?
To force yourself not to look back, even when you could, just so you wouldn’t break apart-do you think that’s easy?”

She stopped.

Mike heard the small, uncontrolled sound she made through her nose-
the sound of someone swallowing tears.

“And especially,” El said, her voice thickening,
“when the one who caused all that pain was me…”

His chest tightened.

“To watch the man you love more than your own life try to kill himself,” she said, her voice sharp as broken glass,
“and be able to do nothing… do you think that’s easy?”

Mike’s eyes burned.
He didn’t cry-yet.

Crying felt like a luxury.
Like if he let himself cry, he might forgive himself-and he didn’t want that.

“What is your problem?” El asked.
“What are you punishing me for?”

Mike’s fingers trembled.
A question he had no right to answer.

“One way or another… you turned twenty-six. You became a father. You built a life.”

Her voice cracked again, then steadied.

“If we’d gone together, maybe we wouldn’t have even seen eighteen.
Would a life where we slept at a different address every week, where peace lasted minutes, where we could never build a family-would that have made you happy?”

Mike clenched his teeth.

But at least if I was going to die, I would’ve died for you.

“You think I’m so happy here,” El said.
“You think I forgot you, that I’m just living my life-but I have a surprise for you, Mike: I’m not.”

Her voice softened.

Soft-but the blade went deeper.

“You’re not the only one who’s been dying inside.
You’re not the only one who couldn’t move on.
You’re not the only one carrying a weight in your chest.”

Mike felt his breathing start to crack.
He wanted-God, he wanted-to turn around, to pull her into his arms, to wrap himself around her and stay like that until morning erased everything.

He didn’t move.

“You’re so trapped in your own head,” El said,
“you can’t even hear what I’m telling you.”

Then her breathing changed-sharper, more personal.

“I told you three times-three damn times-that I don’t see Stefán that way.”

A flicker of anger stirred inside Mike-not at her, at himself.

Because she had said it.
And he had fed every word to the monster of his jealousy.

“You asked. I said I don’t love him.
You said he’s a good man-I said yes, but I don’t feel that way.”

She inhaled.

“Then you yelled at me.
You even said… ‘You make sense together.’”

Her voice broke on that last line.

Mike felt something inside him split open.

“And you…” El went on,
“you looked at me like I betrayed you.”

Her boots shifted in the snow.

“IT WOULD’VE BEEN EASY!” she suddenly burst out.
Her voice ricocheted off the falls.

“If Stefán was the one I wanted-if I loved him-IT WOULD’VE BEEN EASY!”

Mike’s nails dug into his palms.

“He told me he’d take whatever I could give,” El said, fighting for breath.
“I didn’t have to do much, Mike.
If I’d chosen him… it would’ve been easy.”

Her voice thinned, slicing itself.

“The only different thing I had to do was be in his bed at night.”

A pause.

Then, firmer:

“I didn’t.”

Mike’s throat burned.

“I didn’t choose easy. I didn’t choose him.”

Her voice trembled.

“Even after all those years, even though I knew him longer than you-I didn’t choose him.”

Mike pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing at the ache.

“Every morning I chose you,” El said, quieter now, heavier.
“When I put my head on the pillow, it was you I wanted beside me-not him.”

Mike’s breath stopped.

“Even when I thought you’d never choose me,” she whispered,
“I chose you.”

That wasn’t blame.
That was a confession someone had carried alone for years.

“But you…”

Her breath quickened.

“What did you say to me?
How could you break me like that, Mike?”

Mike’s shoulders shook.

He felt the first tear slip before he could stop it.
Silent. Embarrassing. Human.

“My Mike wouldn’t have done that,” El said, voice cracking.
“He might not have agreed with me… but he would’ve listened.”

That sentence laid him open.

My Mike.

He wanted to turn.
He wanted to hold her, to bury his face in her neck, to apologize into her skin, to stay like that until the world forgot his name.

His shoulders moved.

“NO!” El shouted.
“FACE FORWARD! YOU WILL LISTEN!”

He froze again.

Only water, breath, and the roar inside his chest.

“Never compare your pain with mine,” El said finally.
“Never do that.”

Mike bowed his head.

She was right.
She was right.
She was right.

“I came here with no one,” El continued.
“No money. No plan. Cold at night. I came here hoping to be safe in a country whose language I didn’t even understand"

That word.

Hoping.

Not knowing.

“I was scared of Stefán when I first met him,” she said.
“I thought they were going to hand me over to military.”

Her voice softened for a moment.

“That boy tried to convince me with the three English words he knew.
He helped me. And yes-he became my best friend.
And yes, he protected me, helped me understand this life.”

Another breath.

“And outside my control, he started having feelings for me.”

Mike’s jaw tightened.

“But what’s my fault?” El asked.
“I didn’t tell him to fall in love.”

Her breathing sped up.

“I rejected him. I keep rejecting him.
Because I always choose you.”

The word always hit like a hammer.

“But what are you accusing me of?”

El’s voice cracked, then sharpened.

“In the story you wrote inside your head, where did you put me, Mike?”

The waterfall thundered between them, but she was clearer than it.

“And no-we couldn’t have done it together.
We would’ve been caught. We wouldn’t have made it here.”

Mike tried to object.
His throat refused.

“Do you know why?” El said, lower now.
“We wouldn’t have found the courage.”

A pause.

“The raw courage that comes from having lost everything.”

Her voice trembled-not weakness, truth.

“Because we would’ve been too afraid to lose each other.
They would’ve used you to get to me. And they would’ve killed you"

Cold sweat slid down Mike’s back.

“They would’ve known we’d never let go of each other.”

Her breath deepened.

“YOU CAN’T EVEN IMAGINE HOW HARD IT WAS TO LEAVE WHEN I MISSED YOU EVEN IN THE SAME ROOM!” she shouted, pure rage and grief.
YOU CAN’T KNOW WHAT IT’S LIKE TO WATCH YOU DESTROY YOURSELF-
AND TO BE TOO AFRAID TO LOOK INTO THE VOID
BECAUSE I WAS SURE I’D FIND THEM AT YOUR GRAVE.”

Mike stared at the snow.

“I’m not saying I didn’t hurt you,” El said.
“I lived with that guilt every day in this damn place.”

A breath.

“I’m saying I had no choice.
NO CHOICE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Her voice dropped.

“I don’t want anyone but you.
I always wanted you.”

Then, almost bewildered:

“What do you think?
That I don’t want you with me?
How can you even think that?”

Her breath shook.

“This morning, watching you sleep-I realized I fell in love with you all over again.

You looked peaceful… that scar on your head, and I kept thinking: this is still him. Just older. Still mine in a way I don’t know how to explain.”

Mike’s eyes widened.

All over again.

Still mine

She rushed on, like that fragile sentence might shatter.

“How can you not see I’m trying to protect you?
Protect your daughter?”

Her voice carried something like motherhood, fear wrapped in love.

“She’s just a child, Mike.”

“I saw the version of my childhood that didn’t get destroyed when I looked at her.”

Her words blurred.

“How can you expect me to put her second?
How can I risk her for what I feel for you?”

Faster now:

“Should she suffer because she looks like me?
Is that fair to her?”

Mike listened, breath trapped.

“Life is complicated enough,” El said.
“Are we supposed to say: ‘Hey Jane, learn Icelandic, adapt to a new culture-and by the way, be ready to live on edge because bad people might hunt us-but don’t worry, we love each other’?”

Her sentence broke.

“Be reasonable, Mike.
Just think.”

Mike didn’t answer.
He couldn’t.

The words were still in his throat, tangled with guilt, but something else was happening-his eyes were burning. He hated that.

Not because crying was weak.
Because he didn’t deserve it.

He had said those things.
He had doubted her, twisted ten years of survival into jealousy and pride.

And now his body wanted relief-wanted tears like some kind of mercy-and he couldn’t stand the thought of taking it.

He didn’t have the right to cry in front of her.
Not after what he’d done.

El noticed.
Of course she noticed.

“Don’t,” she said sharply.
“Don’t you dare turn this into you breaking down so I feel like the villain.”

“I’m not-” His voice cracked before he could stop it.

“I told you not to talk.”

He bit his lip hard enough to taste blood.

But his shoulders betrayed him.
A single breath left his chest wrong-too shaky, too honest.

Behind him, El went quiet.

Mike pressed his fist to his mouth like he could shove the sound back inside.
He tried to breathe normal.
Tried to be the version of himself that didn’t ruin everything he touched.

It didn’t work.

The first tear came without permission.
Then another.

He hated them.
Hated how small they made him look.
Hated that after all the damage he’d done, his body still wanted comfort like he’d earned it.

“El-” he whispered before he could stop himself.

“Don’t,” she said again, softer now.
Not angry.
Scared.

He wiped his face hard, almost violent.
“I’m fine,” he lied.

But the next breath came apart in his throat-and suddenly he wasn’t holding anything anymore.

Ten years.
The drive.
The shouting.
The jealousy.
The fear of losing her.

It all snapped at once.

Mike Wheeler-who believed he didn’t deserve to-
finally, completely, came undone.

She hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

Not like this.

Anger-yes.
Truth-yes.
Making him listen-absolutely.

But not this.

Not Mike standing there with his hand crushed over his mouth like he was trying to hold his soul inside his ribs.

She had wanted him to understand.
Not to break.

“Don’t,” she said-quieter, almost to herself.

Not command-quiet.

Different quiet.

The kind that meant she was losing the war with herself

Don’t do this to me, she thought.
Don’t make me be the one who watches you fall apart.

From where she stood, she could only see his back.
The slope of his shoulders.
The way his head bowed like something too heavy had finally won.

Mike wiped his face like he was angry at his own body.

And El hated that she understood exactly what that felt like.

“I’m fine,” he said.

He wasn’t.

His voice was splintered.
His breathing uneven.
His shoulders-God-his shoulders were shaking.

She remembered those shoulders.

Sixteen.
Too thin.
Too brave.
Carrying a weight no boy should’ve carried.

Now they looked heavier.
Older.

This is my fault.

The thought came without mercy.

She took one careful step closer.
Then another.

Still only his back.
Still only the tremor she could see but not touch.

Her hands hovered useless at her sides-traitorous.

She had spent ten years teaching herself not to reach for him.
Ten years convincing her body that wanting him was dangerous.

And now every nerve was screaming the opposite.

Mike let out a sound he clearly didn’t plan to make-half breath, half broken word.

El flinched.

Not from fear.

From recognition.

That sound was the same one she’d swallowed into pillows in strangers’ houses.
The same one she’d bitten down on in bathrooms, in buses, in rooms that never felt like home.

Grief that had nowhere to land.

“Mike…” she whispered before she could stop herself.

He shook his head immediately, like her voice was a blade.

“Don’t,” he muttered.
“Please don’t be kind to me right now.”

Her chest tightened.

He thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

Of course he did.
Stupid, stubborn, impossible boy.

She wanted to be furious again.
Wanted the clean, sharp anger back-the version of herself that could stand straight and keep distance.

But all she felt was the pull.

The terrible, familiar pull.

She took another step.
Close enough now to see the way his fingers pressed into his face, the way his shoulders rose with every shaky breath.

He was losing.

And she was losing with him.

If he cries, I will fall, she realized.
If he breaks, I will go with him.

That scared her more than any soldier ever had.

“Stop fighting it,” she said before she could think.

He didn’t turn around.

“I don’t want your mercy,” he whispered to the snow in front of him.

“It’s not mercy,” she answered, voice barely steady.
“It’s me.”

El felt the wall inside her crack.

Just one step, something in her begged.
Just touch him. He’s right there.

She remembered the last time she’d held him.
How his heartbeat had felt under her palm.
How safe the world had seemed for exactly five seconds.

Then she remembered why she left.

Her hands curled into fists.

“You don’t get to vanish inside your pain,” she said, but the sentence came out thinner than she wanted.

Mike let out a hollow breath.

“You don’t get to make me the strong one again,” he said-so low she almost missed it.

A bitter, broken laugh followed.

“I was never the strong one.”

That did it.

Something in El snapped-not anger, not control.

Fear.

Fear of losing him all over again, right in front of her.

Without thinking, without permission from the careful version of herself, she closed the distance.

Not a hug.

Not yet.

Just her fingers, trembling, brushing against his right shoulder.

Mike froze.

Like a man who’d been underwater for years and suddenly felt air.

Her fingers hovered-then found his right shoulder instead.

Mike tensed immediately.

“Don’t.”

The word was sharp, almost instinctive.
Not anger-defense.

He shifted just enough to pull away, still refusing to turn.

“Please don’t touch me,” he said, voice low and uneven.
“I don’t- I can’t-”

El’s hand froze in the air where his shoulder had been.

“I don’t deserve that,” Mike whispered.

She could only see his back-the rigid line of it, the way his head hung like he was carrying something too heavy for his neck.

“You don’t get to be gentle with me after what I said,” he went on.
“You don’t get to comfort the person who hurt you.”

El swallowed.

“I’m not comforting you,” she said quietly.
“I’m standing here.”

El’s hand was still on his shoulder.
Just fingertips.
But Mike felt the weight of it in his bones.

He didn’t pull away.
Not this time.

The tears came quietly-shameful, uninvited. His shoulders trembled, his breath fractured. Everything he’d kept locked for years started unraveling under that small touch.

“Don’t,” he whispered.
“Please… don’t be kind to me.”

El didn’t answer.

Mike closed his eyes. The knot in his throat fought its way into words. Finally, he gave up.

“I’m sorry.

I’m so damn sorry, El.”

Her fingers tensed slightly on his shoulder, but she didn’t move.

“I’m sorry for what I said.
For acting like I was the only one bleeding.”

His breath broke.
He stopped, tried to steady himself. Failed.

“And I’m sorry for calling you Terry.”

That name shattered him all over again.

“I knew what it would do to you.
I knew it would cut.
And I still used it.”

He felt her flinch behind him.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have turned your name into a weapon.”

He swallowed hard.
The tears wouldn’t stop now.

His head dropped lower.

“While you were gone… I kept talking to you anyway.
In books.
In letters you were never gonna read.
In lines I wrote at three in the morning, pretending you’d somehow hear them.”

A bitter breath left his chest.

“I was punished with words, El.
For ten years I only had words.
And now I finally got you in front of me-
a real chance to say them out loud-
and I ruined it again.”

His shoulders shook harder.

“I always ruin it.”

Her hand curled a little tighter without meaning to.

“I wanted to tell you I missed you without making it sound like blame.
I wanted to tell you I was proud you survived.
I wanted to tell you I never stopped choosing you.”

His voice fell to a whisper.

“But all I did was shout and bleed on you.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, for the first time without armor, Mike spoke:

“I don’t deserve to ask for anything.
I know that.”

He tried to breathe through it.

“But I need you to hear this.”

A pause.
Courage he didn’t think he had.

“I’m not crying so you forgive me.
I’m crying because I hate the man I became in front of you.”

El’s breathing changed behind him.

“And I’m sorry,” Mike said-no pleading left, just bare truth.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to fight me instead of come home to me.”

That line split the air.

Mike couldn’t hold himself together anymore.
He lowered his hands from his face-but he didn’t turn around.

“Say something,” he whispered.
“Please… even if it’s to tell me to go.”

El’s hand slid from his shoulder.
But she didn’t step away.

She stepped closer.

And then-
despite all her anger, all her walls-
she couldn’t hold back anymore.

El couldn’t take it anymore.

His back to her, his shoulders shaking, that broken apology hanging in the cold air-it was too much. Too close to the version of him she’d spent ten years trying not to remember.

“Mike.”

He didn’t move.

“Look at me.”

He shook his head slightly.
“I can’t.”

That was it.

El stepped around him before she could talk herself out of it. Her hand left his shoulder, slid down his arm, and with more force than she meant, she turned him toward her.

Not gentle.
Not careful.

Desperate.

Mike inhaled sharply as she spun him, like the world had tilted under his feet.

And there he was.

Red eyes.
Wet cheeks.
That stubborn, ruined face she had loved since she was a girl.

For a second neither of them spoke.

El’s chest rose and fell too fast. Seeing him like this-really seeing him-hit harder than all the yelling, all the years, all the anger she’d carried.

“You don’t get to hide your face and bleed alone.” she said, voice trembling despite herself.

Mike tried to look away.

El didn’t let him.

Her hands came up before she decided to move them, gripping his jacket, keeping him there.

“I meant what I said,” she whispered. “I’m furious with you. I’m hurt. I’m so angry I can barely breathe.”

Her fingers tightened his coat.

“But I’m not going to watch you break from behind like you’re already gone.”

A tear slid down Mike’s face again.
He didn’t wipe it this time.

“El-”

“Shut up for a second,” she said, softer now.

He let out a weak, almost disbelieving laugh through the crying.

She studied him-really studied him. The lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. The exhaustion he carried like a second skin.

“You look older,” she murmured without meaning to.

“Feel older,” he answered before he could stop himself.

That almost broke her.

Her hands slid from his coat to his arms, hesitant, like she was relearning the shape of him.

“You said you ruined it,” El whispered.
“You didn’t ruin everything.”

Mike’s face twisted.

“I ruined enough.”

“But we’re still here.”

Silence.

Snow whispering around them.
The waterfall roaring somewhere far behind.

Mike’s control was gone now. He wasn’t trying to hold it together anymore.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, voice small.
“I don’t even know where to start.”

El swallowed.

“You start by letting me hold you,” she said before she could stop herself.

Mike froze.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

For a moment he looked terrified of the offer-like comfort was a trap he didn’t deserve.

“I don’t- El, I don’t think I can-”

“Then don’t think.”

And before he could argue, before he could talk himself out of breathing, El closed the last inch between them and wrapped her arms around him.

Not careful.
Not polite.

Real.

Mike went still for half a heartbeat.

Then he collapsed into her like a wall finally allowed to fall.

His arms came around her back, shaking, and he buried his face in her shoulder with a sound he’d been swallowing for ten years.

El held him tighter.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered, and her own tears finally spilled.

“I’ve got you, Mike.”

They stayed like that for a long time.

No talking.
No convincing.
No trying to win.

Just two people standing in the cold, remembering how to breathe near each other.

Mike pulled back slowly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I need to say something,” he said.
“Not to start another fight. Just… so you hear it.”

El nodded.

“I’m listening.”

He took a breath.

“I don’t hate Stefán.”

“You acted like you did.”

“I know. But that’s not the truth.”

He hesitated.

“I’m grateful to him. For keeping you safe. For being there when I couldn’t. But admitting that… made me feel small. Like I’d been replaced by someone better.”

El pressed her lips together.

“You weren’t replaced.”

“I felt like it,” Mike said quietly.

“I always knew you deserved better than me. Stronger, steadier, not… broken. And I compared myself to him. I hated that I wasn’t what you needed."

El touched his face.

This time he didn’t pull away.

“Listen to me,” she said.
“I choose you. I have always chosen you.”

Her eyes dropped to the ring on his finger.

“The way you chose me by still wearing that ring.”

“Of course I chose you,” Mike answered.
“You are my whole life, El.”

They fell quiet again.

But this silence was different-softer, human. Not sharp like before. The kind of silence that sits beside two tired people instead of between them.

El took his hand.

“Do you know why I came today?” she asked.
“Not just to yell at you.”

Mike looked at her.

“Then why?”

She smiled.

“The second you drove away, I missed you.”

The words settled inside him.

El rested her head on his shoulder.

He laced his fingers through hers.

“Can we stay a little longer?”

“Yes.”

Minutes passed.
Snow. Water. Breath.

Mike stared at their joined hands.

“Can I say something without ruining everything again?”

El let out a soft laugh.
“You’ve already done your worst today. Go ahead.”

He swallowed.

“I don’t want to visit you like a wound I’m managing. I want… us. Not in pieces. Not in stolen days. Just us.”

His thumb brushed her knuckles.

El closed her eyes and was quiet for a moment.

“I’m scared,” she admitted.
“But I’m more scared of another ten years without you.”

Mike exhaled like he’d been holding that breath since he was sixteen.

“Come here,” he whispered.

She lifted her head. He touched her face carefully, like she was something he was still learning he was allowed to hold.

Mike swallowed, his hands still trembling inside hers.

“I love you,” he said-no speeches this time, no armor.
“Not the memory. You. The stubborn, impossible woman the one sitting across from me.”

His voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.

“I loved you for fourteen years. I had to live ten of them without you. Ten awful years.”
Tears gathered in his eyes, and he didn’t even try to hide them.

“In those ten years, there wasn’t a single day I didn’t tell you I loved you.
But not to your face. I told it to the book. To letters. To the stars at night. To the sky. To the oceans I crossed.”

El felt her throat tighten.

“Every night when I lay down to sleep, I told it to the photo on my nightstand. With every step I took. Every time. In every way. I told it.”

The tears finally spilled.

“And now I want to tell you that every single day-directly to you.”

He shook his head, desperate.

“I’m not trying to dictate your life. I won’t do that. I only have one request, El-don’t give up on us. I love you so much. Everything I have and all that I am is yours forever.”

El’s breath hitched.

“Don’t give up on us. Bring your blessing back into my life. You, me, and-if you accept-our little girl.”

The words trembled between them.

“I’m sure if we think about it calmly, we can find another way. Independent of your path, independent of mine. Maybe we can’t fix it tomorrow-but we’ll try. We’ll give it time. I don’t know… maybe you meet Jane first, then we figure the rest out.”

His breathing grew heavier.

“The world might have only given us this much, but I don’t care, El.

You are what I want. You are my fate. I am yours, and you are mine. We belong to each other-no matter what anyone rules...

I love you.”

He finished, completely open, completely defenseless.

For a moment there was only the waterfall and the sound of two people trying not to drown in what they felt.

El reached up and touched his face.

“Mike…”

Her voice was shaking now too.

“I spent ten years telling myself I was keeping you safe,” she whispered.
“I told myself distance was love. Silence was love. Staying away was love.”

Tears slid down her cheeks.

“But every night I fell asleep missing you. I talked to you in rooms you never saw. I imagined your voice answering me. I never measured anyone against you. I just chose the boy who loved me when I didn’t even know how to be human."

She let out a soft, broken laugh.

“I chose you. I always chose you.”

Mike closed his eyes.

Her hands tightened around his.

“I don’t want to give up on you either. I never did. I love you too.”

He pulled her closer-slow, careful, like he was asking permission even now.

Their foreheads touched first.

Then their noses.

The kiss started the way they were: hesitant, a little afraid.

El’s fingers curled into his coat.

Mike made a sound he didn’t mean to make-relief, grief, love tangled together.

The kiss deepened-not rushed, not wild-just two people finally admitting they were allowed to want this.

When they pulled apart, both of them were crying and smiling at the same time.

“Hey,” Mike whispered, like they were meeting again.

El laughed through her tears.

“Hi.”

For one impossible moment, the world felt kind.

Mike hesitated, then nodded toward her pocket.

“Can I… ask for something?”

El raised an eyebrow.

“Your promise ring,” he said softly.
“The one you kept in your wallet. Can I see it?”

Her expression changed-surprise first, then something warm and unguarded. She reached into the wallet inside her coat, pulled out the small ring wrapped in an old receipt, and placed it in his palm.

“It’s been with me everywhere,” she murmured.

Mike took off his own ring without looking away from her.

“Trade?” he asked.

El smiled.

“Trade.”

He slid her ring onto her hand. It didn’t fit the same anymore-too small for the finger it used to live on.

“It only fits your pinky now,” Mike said.

“Good,” El replied. “Means we grew.”

She took his ring and placed it on his finger in return.

“Tomorrow,” Mike whispered, “we’ll figure out the grown-up version of this.”

El gave a small, crooked smile.

“Weren’t you supposed to leave tomorrow?” she asked, teasing but careful, like she was afraid the answer might hurt.

Mike snorted.

“Absolutely not. I can stay at least two more days. Three if I decide I need intensive research on Icelandic cafés… preferably with you sitting across from me. I’m an author, after all. Some stories need to be lived before they can be written"

El laughed -soft, real, relieved.

“Two days, huh?”

“Minimum,” Mike said. “Officially extended by the Ministry of Not Screwing This Up Again.”

Her smile softened.

“Tomorrow,” El agreed.

Mike leaned in and rested his forehead against hers.
El’s fingers found the back of his neck without thinking, like they already remembered the way home.

They kissed again-not desperate, not rushed.
This time it felt different.
Like a door finally closing after years of wind.

There was no panic in it, no fear of losing the moment. Just warmth. 

Mike rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in as if she were oxygen he’d been missing for a decade.
El’s fingers curled into his jacket, not holding on out of need, but out of certainty.

Her thumb brushed his jaw-slow, almost absentminded, like she was memorizing the shape of him all over again.
Mike answered without thinking, his hand sliding to the small of her back, pulling her just a little closer, like he was afraid the world might interrupt if he left even an inch of space.

They kissed like they had nowhere else to be.
Like the world could wait.
Like love wasn’t a battle anymore-just a place they were allowed to stand in.

“Okay,” she said softly as she lifted her head.
“We can go now.”

“Go where?”

A familiar spark returned to her face-braver this time, more deliberate.

She slipped her arms around his neck and looked at him for a long time, noting-again and again-how he was no longer the sixteen-year-old boy she remembered. Still, in his eyes, she found herself.
When the silence had stretched enough, she answered.

“Take me to your room, Mr. Wheeler" she said, biting her lip.

Mike’s brain short-circuited.

“What?”

El’s mouth twitched.

“You heard me.”

He swallowed.

“My room? You mean…”

She didn’t answer-
just kept looking at him with that steady, dangerous certainty, the kind that said she knew exactly what she was asking for.

Mike felt his face heat up.

“Like… the room with the large bed? The very private, very horizontal, very doors-locked, zero-audience kind of room?”
he muttered, half joking, half already losing the battle.

El tilted her head and nodded.

“So you mean the room where two people go in and suddenly forget how sentences work?” Mike went on.
“The one with the suspiciously unnecessary amount of pillows?”

El considered him for a second,
then nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth-

“The one where conversations don’t need witnesses.”
“Yes. That room.”

Mike forgot how to breathe for a second.

“Okay… but I have one question.”

“I’m listening.”

“So… am I gonna have to climb out a window again if some grumpy old man finishes his errands early and shows up at home-before we’ve even had time to recover, breathe, and remember our own names?”
He winced theatrically.
“Because my room is on the fourth floor. Jumping might be a bold career move.”

El froze-then burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, Mike!”

“You were laughing that day too! Hopper was stepping onto the porch, and I was trying to pull my pants on while escaping out the window at the same time.”

“You weren’t escaping—you were dangling upside down, straight-up disrespecting gravity. Your left foot got stuck over the window,” El said with a laugh.

“I was sixteen! Survival instincts!”

She was still laughing.

“Alright,” she said, playing along,
“do you currently have a grumpy man cleaning his guns while staring at you in your hotel lobby?”

Mike pretended to look around.

“Only an old lady asleep at reception. Our biggest threat is her crossword.”

They both laughed-and when the laughter faded, the tension didn’t disappear.

It simply changed shape.

El tilted her head.

“Food first,” she said.

Mike smiled.

“Food first.

"Then we talk about the rest.”

“Can we postpone the talking part?” he asked, flashing that unfairly familiar puppy look.

El stared at him in disbelief.

“You can still do that face?”

“Apparently.”

She sighed dramatically.

“Fine. We’ll talk later.”

For a second they just looked at each other-like they both knew they’d stepped over some invisible line and were pretending it hadn’t mattered.

Then Mike leaned in.

This kiss wasn’t careful like the ones before.
It wasn’t fragile, wasn’t polite, wasn’t asking permission from the past.

It was warmer-deeper-closer to the edge of all the things they’d spent ten years refusing to name.

El’s hand slid to the front of his coat, fingers curling into the fabric with quiet authority, like she was done letting him slip away in any universe. Mike answered without hesitation, his palm finding her waist, not wandering-just firm, deliberate, claiming the moment without apology.

From the outside it still looked innocent.
Two people saying goodbye beside a waterfall.
Nothing more than a reunion finally softening.

Inside, it felt like a door being kicked open after years of knocking.

El rose onto her toes without realizing it. Mike followed her instinctively, the kiss turning slower, heavier, the kind that remembered things their mouths hadn’t done in a decade but their bodies clearly had.

He exhaled against her lips-half laugh, half surrender.

Her fingers tightened in his coat again, and for a dangerous second neither of them pretended they were thinking about food, hotels, or anything resembling responsible decisions.

When they finally pulled back, their foreheads touched, breaths tangled, both acting like the air between them wasn’t suddenly charged.

“Definitely food first,” Mike murmured, voice lower than he intended.

El swallowed, trying-and failing-to look unaffected.

“Absolutely,” she agreed.

Mike glanced toward the parking lot, then back at her with that suspiciously calm expression.

“By the way… we might need to stop by a store,” he said casually. "Hope it’s not closed.”

“It’s not,” El answered. “There’s a small kiosk near the road.”

Mike gave her a slow, crooked smile.

“What I need isn’t exactly a kiosk item.”

El’s cheeks went pink in an instant.

“Oh my God, Mike…”

“What?” he said, all fake innocence.

 "Hey! There hasn’t been anyone in ten years. I didn’t want anyone else. Why would I carry one around like a souvenir?"

"Mike!"

"I'm just saying -exclusive membership. One person. Lifetime plan.”

She stared at him, half mortified, half fighting a laugh.

“You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re still blushing,” he pointed out, way too pleased with himself.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They started walking toward the car-no longer distant, no longer careful, still fragile but lighter.

Between them lay a thousand unsaid things, touched things, forgiven things.

And they took the road to Reykjavík.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

They walked back to the hotel as the light started turning the color of old photographs. The city felt softer now, like it was minding its own business and letting them mind theirs.

In the elevator El leaned her head briefly against his shoulder.

“I have to go to school tomorrow,” she said, almost casually.

Mike blinked.

“School?”

“I teach there, remember?”

“I remember. I just-still can’t process that you’re a real teacher with, like, rules and tiny humans who listen to you.”

El smiled.

“They don’t listen to me.”

“That sounds more believable.”

Back in the room the day caught up with them all at once-the kind of tired that lives behind the eyes.

El kicked off her shoes and sat on the edge of the bed.

“We didn’t finish talking,” she said.

Mike dropped the souvenir bag onto the chair.

“Yeah...”

A small silence.

“Tomorrow after school,” El continued, “we’ll keep going. Options. Plans.."

“However you want.”

She looked at him, softer now.

“I want to do this right, Mike.”

He nodded.

“Me too.”

Mike stared at the phone for a second.

“I should call home,” he said.

El nodded, suddenly aware of her own heartbeat.

He dialed.

It rang twice.

El listened from the bed, chin resting in her palm, smiling without realizing it.

Mike glanced at her.

“Putting you on speaker,” he murmured.

“Wheelers,” Karen answered, warm and busy in that eternal-mom way.

El smiled when she heard Karen’s voice-older now, but still full of that familiar energy.

“Hey, Mom.” 

“Michael! I was just thinking about you. Are you alive? Fed? Not lost in a glacier?”

“All three,” he said, smiling.

From somewhere behind her, a familiar voice cut through the house like a siren.

“Is that Dad? Nana, tell him it’s my turn! You promised!”

El pressed her lips together to keep from laughing.

Mike closed his eyes for a second.

“She sounds calm,” he murmured to El.

Karen sighed into the phone.

“She’s been orbiting me like a small, loud moon. So-when are you coming back? Your father pretends he doesn’t ask, but he absolutely asks.”

Mike glanced at El, choosing his words carefully.

“Soon. I’m just… figuring a few things out.”

Karen went softer.

“Are you okay, honey?”

“Yeah, Mom. I am.”

Another protest in the background.

“Nanaaa, it’s been TWO YEARS!”

El let out a quiet laugh.

“Alright, alright,” Karen said.
“Brace yourself. Transferring to Jane.”

A scramble, a thud, then-

“Daaaad!”

Mike’s whole face changed.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“I miss you,” Jane said immediately.
“I miss your stories. Nana tells them and Holly tries but she makes all the dragons sound like squirrels.”

Mike laughed, throat tight.

“Squirrels can be intimidating.”

“Not like you do it,” Jane insisted.
“You make them real.”

El watched him from the bed, something warm and aching in her expression.

“And I miss El's stories,” Jane added in a whisper, like Karen wouldn't hear.

The room went still.

Mike looked at El without meaning to.
She looked back, eyes wide.

“You do?” Mike asked carefully.

“Yeah. The ones where she’s brave and beats the monsters and she finds her happiness.”

Mike felt his chest tighten.

He kept looking at El.

“Yeah,” he said softly.
“I’ll tell you more of those. I promise.”

El failed to hide the smile trembling there.

“Good. And bring me something from Iceland,” Jane continued.
“But not fish. Or rocks. Or anything scary.”

“Noted.”

Karen’s voice floated back.

“Five more minutes, Miss Bossy!”

Jane dropped her voice like it was a secret.

“Dad, don’t get eaten by a volcano, okay?”

“I’ll try not to.”

“Love you.”

Mike closed his eyes.

“Love you too.”

The call ended, leaving the room full of quiet. Mike stretched his arms over his head.

“So,” he said, turning to her, “tell me about the school. Are the tiny humans behaving?”

El snorted.

“Define behaving.”

“No fires? No rebellions? No one trying to unionize the crayons?”

“One kid tried to negotiate fewer vowels.”

Mike shook his head.

“Economic reformer.”

“I teach them songs, colors, how to introduce themselves in English,” she added.
“Most of them just want to sing the same three songs forever.”

“Sounds like a reasonable life philosophy.”

She rolled her eyes, then glanced down at herself.

“Speaking of real life… I need to wash these. I don’t have anything else for tomorrow.”

Mike followed her gaze and immediately failed at looking neutral.

“So you’re saying there will be a period of time where you have no clothes.”

“Don’t,” El warned.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking loudly.”

He raised his hands in surrender.

“Purely logistical concern.”

“If you don't have a sweater to give me, that's no problem, Mr. Wheeler. I can survive with the hotel robe.”

Mike bit the inside of his cheek, clearly enjoying this far too much.

“Sure, I could give you a sweater, or this wonderful robe would work too, but either way... It's tragic. Absolutely tragic.”

“Mike.”

"Contrary to what you might think, I'm quite supportive."

She pointed toward the door.

“Laundry. Now.”

"Okay..."

Mike stood in the doorway with her clothes folded over his arm like precious cargo.

“Don’t mix the colors. Okay?”

“I would never disrespect fabric that way. And also I've been living on my own for eight years, and I have a six-year-old daughter who loves to wear colorful clothes.”

She shook her head, fighting a smile.

“Good job, daddy. And don’t get lost.”

“I’ll leave a trail of breadcrumbs.”

“Find a way to come back to me, no matter what you do.”

He hesitated at the door.

“Not finding you? That is out of the question. Back in ten. Try not to start any educational revolutions without me.”

“No promises.”

They ended up on the bed with the TV playing something neither of them was really watching. El sat cross-legged in the hotel robe, flipping through a brochure she’d found in the lobby.

“I’ve got six hours of teaching tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll sing about the weather, practice colors…”

Mike lay on his side, watching her.

El leaned her head against his shoulder.

“Normal evenings are nice,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Mike said and added quickly  “They're truly amazing. We'll figure this out somehow, El.”

“Not tonight. But we will.”

El nodded, pulling the robe a little tighter around herself.

“One step at a time.”

“Tiny steps,” he agreed.

A long silence settled.

Mike turned his head toward her.

“I think about you two together,” he admitted.

“You and Jane.”

Mike hesitated, as if the sentence had teeth.

“I mean… not in some fairytale way,” he added quickly.
“More like-she would’ve stolen your socks and blamed me. That kind of...”

El let out a small, shaky laugh.

“She’d ask you a thousand questions before breakfast,” Mike went on.
“And you’d pretend to be annoyed but secretly enjoy every second.”

He swallowed.

“I keep seeing it in my head. You at the kitchen table, her feet not touching the floor, you explaining something simple like it’s the most important thing in the universe.”

El stared at the ceiling.

“And what if she didn’t like me?” she whispered before she could stop herself.

Mike turned toward her instantly.

“El. She loves you,” he said. “She’s been talking about you like you’re a superhero.”

He let out a small, helpless laugh.

“There aren’t words for that feeling.”

Another pause.

“Just imagine how much you two would have loved each other.”

El swallowed, staring at the ceiling now.

“She's cute,” she whispered.

Mike closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re both cute. Like… dangerously cute.”

El let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.

“Careful. You’re going to make me believe you.”

“I am trying to.”

Another silence, but it wasn’t heavy. It felt like something being set down instead of picked up.

Mike shifted slightly, turning toward her in the half-light.

“Come here,” he said softly, like it wasn’t a command at all-more a suggestion the air itself had made.

El moved without thinking, the robe sleeve brushing his arm as she settled closer. The space between them disappeared in the quietest way possible, like it had been waiting to do that all night.

Mike studied her for a second-the familiar lines of her face, the parts that had changed, the parts that hadn’t. He looked like he was trying to memorize something he was afraid could still be taken away.

“I’m really glad it’s you,” he said again, quieter this time.

El’s hand found his without looking.

“Me too.”

The TV kept flickering blue shadows across the ceiling, turning them into soft shapes that didn’t quite belong to the world outside.

He leaned in slowly, giving her time to stop him, to laugh or to run. She didn’t do any of those things.

Their foreheads met first, careful and ordinary and somehow more intimate than anything loud could have been.

“I love you” El whispered.

“I'm in love with you” Mike agreed.

His fingers traced a gentle line along her wrist, nothing hurried, nothing demanded. Just two people learning the language of being near each other again.

Outside, the city went on existing.
Inside, the moment grew its own small gravity.

El let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

The lights dimmed to a low hum, the TV eventually giving up on them both. 

Mike lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling like it might offer legal advice.

El was already asleep, her face half hidden against the pillow, hair a soft mess that looked unfairly peaceful. She trusted sleep in a way he never had.

He listened to her breathing and tried not to think too loudly.

Tomorrow.

The word sat in his chest like a stone with opinions.

Not the promise ring. Not the old symbol of “one day, maybe, if the world doesn’t end.”
A real ring. The kind that meant signatures and shared mailboxes and arguing about curtains.

You’re insane, Wheeler!!

He turned his head and looked at her again.

Or maybe you’re finally not.

His brain started arguing with itself, because of course it did.

Too soon.
You just got her back.
Don’t scare her.
Tiny steps, remember?

But another voice, older and more stubborn, answered before he could stop it.

Ten years isn’t soon.

He pictured walking into a jewelry store like a normal adult. Asking for something shiny without sounding like a criminal. Imagined the clerk saying “What’s her style?” and him answering “Uh… brave? Terrifying? Makes me forget my name?”

He winced.

Great plan. Flawless execution pending.

El shifted in her sleep and her hand brushed his arm. Instinctively, he held still, like moving might break the spell.

What if she says no?

The thought arrived late but loud.

Not no to me.
No to speed.
No to risk.
No to believing this is allowed.

He stared back at the ceiling.

Okay. Worst case: she says no.
Then what?

Nothing.
You still love her.
She still loves you.
You just keep trying.

His shoulders loosened a little at that.

It wasn’t a cliff.
Just a question.

He imagined the moment anyway; Her face, the pause, the way she’d probably try to be gentle even if she was terrified. And somehow, even that version didn’t feel like the end of the world.

Because she was here.

Because tonight had happened.

Because she’d said his name like it belonged to her.

Mike let out a slow breath.

Tomorrow, he thought.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… honest.

He glanced at her again, at the calm line of her mouth, at the way the blanket rose and fell like nothing in the universe was complicated.

“You’re going to ruin me,” he whispered, barely sound at all.

Then, softer:

“And I’m going to let you.”

He reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her face without waking her.

Okay, Wheeler.

One ring.
One question.
No speeches longer than human law allows.

He closed his eyes, the decision settling into him with surprising quiet.

Tomorrow.

Mike woke to the sound of fabric shifting and the quiet determination of someone trying not to be late.

El was standing by the chair, the hotel robe loose on her shoulders, the morning light making everything softer than it had any right to be. For a second he just watched her, half awake, half terrified this was still a dream.

She caught him looking.

“Don’t,” she said automatically.
“I’m in teacher mode.”

“Teacher mode looks illegal.”

“Mike.”

He smiled into the pillow.

The robe slipped from her shoulders as she reached for her clothes, and Mike suddenly became very interested in the ceiling, the curtains, the fascinating history of hotel wallpaper-anything that wasn’t the fact that his heart had apparently decided to audition for a drum solo.

“What time do you need to be there?” he asked, voice suspiciously calm.

“Too soon,” El said, pulling on her shirt.
“I have to be responsible and inspiring and pretend the letter B is life-changing.”

“The letter B saved my marriage once,” Mike said with playful seriousness.

She laughed and threw the small pillow at him.

Mike caught the pillow in midair and got up to get dressed.

By the time she was ready, grabbed her bag and keys from the table. 

Mike was already reaching for his jacket.

“I’ll take you.”

She gave him a look.

“Mike-”

“I want to.”

The truth under it was obvious and a little fragile: he didn’t want to watch her walk away and disappear into a building full of other lives. 

El studied him for a moment, then softened.

“Okay,” she said quietly.
“You can take me.”

The drive was short and filled with small, normal sounds-turn signals, traffic.

Mike killed the engine in front of the school and stared at the building like it might bite.

“I’ll wait outside,” he repeated, then hesitated.

El was already gathering her bag.

“Mike, I’ll be fine. It’s a normal day."

“Right. Normal. Teachers. Children. Letters that save marriages.”

She opened the door, then paused.

"You can’t sit out here for six hours like a worried golden retriever.”

Mike opened his mouth to argue.

“Don’t,” she cut in gently.

“Go do something for yourself while I’m inside,” she said.
“Coffee. Walk. Breathe like a human.”

He nodded too quickly.

“Yeah. I’ll-uh-stretch my legs. Totally normal activities.”

El narrowed her eyes.

“Mike Wheeler, what are you planning?”

“Nothing,” he said, which sounded exactly like planning.

“I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”
He didn’t sound convinced.

El leaned across the space between them and kissed him-soft, quick, brave enough for both of them.

Mike caught her wrist before she could pull away.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

He hesitated, then decided not to.

“I love you.”

El blinked once-then the corner of her mouth lifted.

“I know.”

For half a second Mike just stared at her, equal parts surprised and delighted.

“Did you seriously just Han Solo me?”

“Maybe.”

He let out a disbelieving laugh and pulled her back in, kissing her again-longer this time, less careful, like joy had temporarily hijacked his common sense.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered against her lips.

“You started it,” she whispered.

She kissed his cheek before stepping out.

“Breathe like a human,” she repeated.

“Breathe like a human,” he echoed, already calculating how far the jewelry shop was.

When the doors closed behind her, Mike exhaled.

“Okay,” he muttered to the steering wheel.
“Six hours to ruin or fix the rest of my life. No pressure.”

Michael. You've only just reunited. You could cause her to panic. Tiny Steps. Remember?

No. She won't panic. I waited ten years. I won't wait any longer.

If I wait, fear wins again.

And we’ve already let fear write enough of our story.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he started the car.

The third jeweler was the one.

Small, warm, smelling like polished wood and old decisions - the kind of place where people bought futures without realizing they were doing it.

The ring had a single stone. Nothing dramatic. Just honest.
Like it wasn’t trying to convince anyone of anything.

Mike stared at it like it might blink first.

For a ridiculous second he imagined the ring judging him.

You sure about this, Wheeler? You ready to be brave in public?

He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

Yeah.
He was.

Because he didn’t see just a ring.

He saw El at twelve, looking at him like he was the only safe thing in a burning town.
He saw El at sixteen, sitting on the edge of his bed, pretending she wasn’t terrified of the world.

He saw the girl who had once held his hand like it was a secret she wanted to keep forever.

He saw the woman who had said I know with that impossible half-smile, like she’d been carrying the same love in her pockets all these years.

His chest tightened.

He thought of El laughing at something stupid.
El asleep with her hair in her face.
El saying his name like it was a place she still lived in.

He thought of ten years of missing her in rooms she’d never entered.
Of all the mornings he’d woken up and reached for a ghost out of habit.
Of how many versions of himself had learned to survive without her -and how none of them had ever felt real.

The clerk cleared her throat gently.

Mike blinked back to the present.

“That one,” he heard himself say, as if his mouth had decided before the rest of him caught up.

The clerk smiled -the kind of smile that said she’d seen this exact expression a thousand times.
Terror dressed as hope.

His hands were shaking when he paid.
Not the dramatic kind.
The quiet, humiliating kind he couldn’t hide.

He imagined El seeing it.
Imagined her face when she realized this wasn’t a dream he was borrowing for a weekend.

He imagined her saying his name before she said anything else.

The thought hit him harder than it should have.

He walked out into the Reykjavík air feeling like he’d swallowed a sun.
Hot, dangerous, impossible to keep contained.

No plan.

Okay. One plan.

Her.

At three on the dot he was back in front of the school, pacing like a lunatic pretending to be casual.

El appeared between the doors, bag over her shoulder, teacher face melting into something softer the second she saw him.

Mike didn’t wait.

He crossed the distance in three stupidly long steps and kissed her like he’d been holding his breath all day.

El kissed back, half laughing, half startled.

“Okay-wow. I was gone six hours.”

“Felt longer.”

“Mike-are you okay?”

He nodded too fast.

“Perfect. Totally normal. Very calm man here.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re scaring me a little.”

“Good kind of scared,” he said.
“Get in the car.”

The car smelled faintly of chalk dust and El’s shampoo.

She kicked off her shoes and curled one leg under herself like the passenger seat had been waiting for her all day.

Mike watched her for a second longer than necessary, trying to act normal while his pocket felt heavier than it had any right to.

“So,” she said, fastening her seatbelt, “I survived the tiny humans.”

Mike smiled, pulling away from the school.

“Any casualties?”

“One crayon rebellion. Two emotional meltdowns about the color green.”

“The color green causes meltdowns now?”

“Apparently yes.”

He laughed, the sound loosening something tight in his chest.

El talked the way she always did-small details first, then the heart of it. How one boy refused to sing unless she pretended the weather song was about Star Trek. How a girl hugged her legs after class and asked if teachers ever get scared too.

“I told her yes,” El said quietly.
“Adults are just taller kids with better excuses.”

Mike glanced at her.

“You’re good at this.”

“At faking authority?”

“At caring.”

She looked out the window. The road began to curve away from the city. Mountains grew taller. The air changed color.

El frowned.

“This isn’t the way back to the hotel.”

“Nope.”

“Mike… where are we going?”

He tightened his hands on the wheel, suddenly nervous.

“To the Kirkjufellsfoss.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

A small, crooked smile appeared on his lips.

“For our very delayed proper meeting.
You know.. Our first one didn’t exactly start… great.”

El remembered -anger, fear… and the fragile relief that at least the ending had been supposed to be happy.

She reached over and took his hand.

“That's a great idea.”

They walked the last stretch holding hands, the sound of the falls growing louder with every step-like the past trying to talk over them and the present refusing to listen.

Mike stopped where the spray kissed the air.

The waterfalls were louder up close, like they were arguing with the sky.

He stood there for a long moment-looking at the white water, then at her, then at his shoes as if the right words might be hiding between the stones.

“Three falls,” he said finally, voice unsteady.
“The cruelest dream we ever held onto.”

El’s fingers tightened around his.

“We used to imagine this place when everything was burning,” he went on.
“I thought-if we could just survive, if we could just make it out-I’d bring you somewhere like this and say: Hey. We made it. The hell is over. We get forever now.”

He stopped.
Swallowed.
Started again.

“But we didn’t get that.”

Tears slipped down his face before he could negotiate with them.

“Ten years, El. Ten years that felt like a different kind of war. I blamed myself every single day. I should’ve had a better plan. I should’ve gotten you out. I should’ve-”

He let out a short, shaky laugh.

“I held onto your ghost every night,” Mike said more quietly.
“But time did something cruel. I forgot -your laugh, the exact sound of your voice, the taste of your lips. And I hated myself for it.”

The water filled the pause for him.

“I did stupid things just to feel a little closer to you. Anything that numbed the ache. I didn’t care about being good-I just wanted to feel alive enough to survive another morning without you.”

He shook his head quickly.

“I’m not saying this to blame you. I know you were in your own hell. I know that.”

He looked at her then, really looked.

“But the moment you smiled at me again… everything came back online. Lights on. Doors unlocked. I was home.”

El was crying too now, silent, steady tears.

“You were never just a girlfriend to me,” Mike said.
“You’re my hero. Not because of your powers. Because when you look at me, I can breathe in a world that tried really hard to drown me.”

He wiped his face with the back of his hand, annoyed at his own emotions.

“And those two nights in the hotel… I don’t have elegant words for that. I just-
I don’t want that distance ever again.”

He let out a breath that sounded like surrender.

“I loved you when I was twelve.
I loved you for 353 days when I talked into a radio like a lunatic.
I loved you at the Snow Ball, in the cabin, on the roof, in tunnels, in deserts, in dreams.
When you were happy, scared, exhausted, when training felt impossible, when you fell asleep on my shoulder.”

He gave a small, crooked smile.

“Even when you were angry.”

El let out a wet laugh.

Mike stopped mid-sentence, suddenly aware of the way he’d been spilling words like an open suitcase.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

El tilted her head.

“A little.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous. Or happy in general.”

She smiled.

“I don’t mind.”

“Good, because my brain apparently decided today is ‘confess every thought since 1987’ day.”

El nudged his shoulder.

“Keep going.”

“Dangerous invitation,” Mike muttered, but his voice softened.
“I’ve had ten years of sentences saved up. They don’t know how to stand in line.”

He paused and took a deep breath. He prepared himself to speak, looked into El's eyes and continued calmly.

“There isn’t a place on earth where I wouldn’t love you,” he said softer now.
“And there isn’t a version of me that isn’t yours.”

A beat.

“Just you. Me. Our terrifyingly smart little girl and all of her complex thoughts.”

He winced.

“Benjamin excluded, obviously. That glue-eating menace is still on probation.”

El laughed through her tears, and that gave him the last bit of courage he needed.

Mike let out a breath and dropped to one knee.

“Please don’t make me live another life without you,” he said, voice shaking but clear.
“I can’t. I don’t want to. “I don’t want to wait anymore.

I love you-El, Jane, Terry, whatever name the world gives you-
the bravest, most impossible, stubborn, extraordinary woman on the planet…”

He opened the box and looked up at her like a boy and a man at the same time.

“Will you marry me?”

El didn’t answer right away.

“Mike…”

The water filled the silence while she gathered the decade inside her chest.
Her throat worked once, twice, like the words were too big for the space they had to leave.

“I was so scared, Mike,” she whispered, and the first word already sounded tired, worn at the edges.
“I thought leaving would keep you safe. I told myself distance was love. I repeated it until it sounded reasonable.”

She gave a small, bitter shake of her head.
Her fingers were trembling and she noticed too late.

“I blamed myself too. For not being strong enough.
For my powers… and for losing them.”

El swallowed, eyes dropping to the ground for a second.
A tear escaped without permission and she wiped it away too fast, almost angry at it.

“When I was alone, I started forgetting who I was too.
Little things first. The way I used to laugh. The things I liked.”
Her breath hitched.
“But I never forgot you.”

She cupped his face like she needed proof he was warm, real, not another cruel memory wearing his shape.

“Sometimes I talked to myself just to hear your voice in my head.
Like you might answer. Like you were just in the other room and I was being dramatic.”

A wet, frustrated laugh escaped her and she wiped her face again, more tears following stubbornly.

“And every night I imagined you telling me it was okay to come home.
I dreamed about the basement, about the cabin, about your hand finding mine in the dark... stupid, ordinary dreams. I lived on those.”

Her lips trembled so badly she had to pause.

“I learned to survive without you. I even learned to smile without you.”
She looked at him then, really looked, at the man who used to be a boy with crooked shoelaces and too much hope.
“But I never learned how to stop loving you.”

She stepped closer, voice smaller now, almost breaking.

“You were my first real home.
And when I saw you again… I realized I was still waiting at that door.
Like an idiot who never moved out.”

A breath.
A heartbeat.

El searched for her voice, and for the girl she used to be

For a second the world went thin, like glass before it breaks.
She heard the water, the wind, her own pulse too loud, too alive.

Inside her chest ten years tried to speak at once.

She thought of all the nights she had convinced herself she was doing the right thing.
Of the mornings she woke up brave and went to bed lonely.
Of learning how to laugh without him and hating that she could.

And now he was here-
kneeling in front of her like the universe had finally apologized.

El needed a moment to become one person again.

Because in front of her wasn’t just Mike..
not only the man kneeling on wet Icelandic ground with a ring in his shaking hand.

There were layers of him.

The boy in the basement with nerdy stuff.
The kid who had held her hand like it was something holy and breakable at the same time.
Fourteen-year-old Mike, standing in her room with a tiny promise ring, cheeks burning, words tripping over each other.

“I just-I mean-I want you to have this-because I-because you-”

She remembered how he’d stuttered, how his fingers had trembled so badly she’d thought he might drop the whole universe between them.
How serious he’d looked for a boy who still smelled like school notebooks and summer.

And now...
the same hands, bigger, steadier, still shaking anyway.
The same voice, deeper, but still breaking around her name.

Time folded.

She saw the first kiss that tasted like soda and courage.

She saw them at the Snow Ball, his tie crooked, her hand shaking inside his.

She saw the silences, the terrible distance that grew teeth and bit them both.

She saw him waiting.
Always waiting.

The boy who loved her without knowing how.
The man who loved her even when he tried not to.

El looked at him and felt all of it at once-
every version of Mike layered on top of each other like transparent photographs.

The one who had called her every night for 353 days.
The one who had tried to live without her and hated himself for succeeding.
The one kneeling now, trying to be brave in adult language while his heart still spoke fourteen.

He was still that boy.

Just taller.
Just tired.
Just braver in new ways.

Her chest hurt with how much she understood.

He never stopped, she realized.

He just learned different ways to wait for me.

The waterfall roared, but all she heard was him.

The same nervous rhythm.
The same love wearing a different body.

El cupped his face and felt the years dissolve under her palms.

And for the first time, she didn’t see what they had lost.
She saw what had survived.

Her hands were trembling.
Not fear. Not really.

Relief.

The kind that hurts on the way out.

You don’t have to be strong anymore, something inside her whispered.
You don’t have to survive. You can just stay.

Tears blurred his face, and hers answered without shame.
She didn’t bother hiding them this time,
not from him, not from the girl she used to be, not from the years that had followed them here.

Her fingers tightened in his shirt like she was learning how to hold on without fear.

“I don’t want another life without you either,” El whispered.

The word was already waiting in her throat.
It didn’t feel like an answer.
It felt like coming home.

“Yes,” El said and it broke halfway through because it carried everything.

She laughed and cried in the same breath.

“Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Mike breathed out like he’d been holding the air for years and slid the ring onto her finger, his hands still shaking.

Then he saw the small, familiar ring already there -the old promise, thin and stubborn, refusing to be erased by time.
He lifted her hand and kissed her little finger, like greeting a part of her he’d never stopped loving.

“I gave you this to promise I’d stay yours,” he whispered.

He showed his own hand.

“I wore this for the same promise.
Even when you weren’t there.
To stay loyal to you. To us.”

His voice cracked on the last word.
He smiled anyway... The brave, messy kind that comes right before tears.

“I’m not ready to take it off. Three years of habit.”

El let out a wet laugh, half relief, half disbelief that this was real and not another cruel dream.

She pulled him up and kissed him like an answer to every unfinished sentence she’d been carrying since she was fourteen.

He kissed her softly; her cheek, her forehead, then her lips again -slower this time, like he was learning a future instead of rushing into one.

“I love you in every possible universe,” he whispered.

El held him tighter, feeling the truth of that settle into her like warm rain.

“I love you too.”

Their foreheads met, breaths tangled, two people finally allowed to exist in the same minute.

The waterfalls kept falling... Loud, indifferent, eternal.

And for the first time in ten years, nothing inside them felt unfinished.

They sat in the car for a moment without starting it.

The engine stayed quiet, like it was giving them space.

El turned the ring on her finger, once, twice-slow, careful, as if it might vanish if she looked too hard.

Mike watched her from the corner of his eye.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded, still staring at her hand.

He smiled.

Neither of them moved. Outside, a gull screamed, a car passed, the world continued being ordinary in a very rude way.

El finally looked up.

“So,” she said, voice trying to be casual and failing,
“we’re engaged.”

Mike let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

“Apparently.”

Another silence-this one warm, almost shy.

She reached over and took his hand without looking.

“Drive before we just sit here forever,” she murmured.

“Good plan,” Mike agreed, starting the engine.
“My face is still burning.”

El smiled at the road ahead.

“I noticed.”

The restaurant was small, warm, smelling of bread and something buttery Mike couldn’t pronounce.

The hostess smiled.

“Table for two?”

Mike-still riding the dangerous high of the waterfall, still feeling like his body hadn’t caught up with his life-answered before his brain could supervise.

“Actually-table for engaged two.”

El closed her eyes, smiled, and turned her head slowly, like she was trying not to laugh and failing anyway.

“Are you going to announce that everywhere?”

“Probably,” Mike admitted. “Airport security. Public restrooms. Random seagulls.”

She laughed, but her fingers tightened around his for a second-like she needed to confirm the world wasn’t joking.

They sat.

Menus arrived.

Mike stared at the page and realized his hands were shaking again.

“You okay?” El asked.

“Yeah. Just-” He exhaled. “My face is still on fire.”

“You look like a tomato.”

He dropped the menu like it had personally offended him.

“I need to wash my face before I propose to the waiter by accident.”

El watched him disappear toward the restroom, smiling to herself-too soft, too bright, like she’d forgotten how to be anything else for a second.

When Mike came back, he looked at least twenty percent more human.

His hair was damp at the temples, his shirt collar slightly darker where water had escaped discipline. He smelled faintly of soap and cold tap water-like someone who had tried very hard to rinse embarrassment off his face and only partially succeeded.

El noticed everything.

The way his shoulders sat lower now.
The way his breathing had slowed.
The way he still looked a little stunned to be sitting across from her like this-public place, real table, real future politely pretending not to stare.

“You look calmer,” she said.

“I am. Cold water exorcism works wonders.”

“Good. At least you no longer resemble a panicking lobster.”

Mike pressed a hand to his cheek like he could argue with biology.

“I was not that red.”

“You absolutely were.”

He groaned and reached for his water.

“I swear, my body has one response to strong emotions and it’s ‘overheat and malfunction.’”

El traced the edge of her menu without really reading it, eyes flicking up to him like she couldn’t stop checking he was real.

“I like it,” she said.

Mike blinked, caught off guard by how sincere it sounded.

“Great. I’ll put that on my resume too. Special Skills: turning into produce when nervous.”

She laughed-and the sound settled something inside him like a blanket being pulled up.

For a moment they just looked at each other.

Mike cleared his throat like he was resetting his operating system.

“So. Dinner.”

“Dinner,” El agreed.

He studied the menu like it might attack him.

“I can’t pronounce a single thing on here.”

“That’s because you’re trying to read Icelandic like it owes you money.”

“Doesn’t it?”

El reached across and turned the menu the right way.

“You’ll survive. I’ll translate.”

“Ah. Personal interpreter privileges. I could get used to this.”

She kicked his shoe under the table.

“Don’t.”

“I will.”

The waitress returned, and El switched into Icelandic with embarrassing ease-ordering for both of them while Mike watched like a man observing advanced technology.

When she finished, he leaned back slowly, eyes wide.

“You’re terrifying.”

“Thank you.”

“No, seriously. You just negotiated fish and potatoes like a diplomat.”

“I asked for no onions.”

“Same thing.”

The food arrived warm and uncomplicated. Bread that smelled like home even though it wasn’t. Something fried. Something buttery. Something that promised forgiveness for all previous life choices.

Mike took a bite and let out a relieved sound he didn’t approve in public.

“Okay,” he said with his mouth half full, “I would like to apologize to Iceland. This is excellent.”

El watched him eat like she was collecting evidence that he existed. That this wasn’t a dream. That she wasn’t about to wake up alone.

He glanced at her over his fork.

“You’re smiling when I eat.”

El shrugged, unbothered.

“I like watching you exist.”

That landed gently between them-soft, dangerous.

Mike chewed slower, eyes fixed on her like he didn’t trust himself to move too fast.

“Careful,” he said, pretending to be casual.
“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to assume you’re making plans that require very soft lighting.”

She looked at him for a moment and laughed-soft, unguarded-and for a second the restaurant around them blurred into background noise.

For the first time since he’d walked in, Mike felt his pulse behave.

Not calm. Not safe.

But steady.

They ate like people who had just survived something and were pretending they hadn’t-like if they acted normal enough, the universe wouldn’t notice and take it back.

Mike watched her cut her food, the ring catching light on her finger.

Something in his face softened into a stupid, boyish kind of awe.

“My fiancée,” he said quietly, testing the word like it might change shape in his mouth.

El’s fork paused mid-air.

Her eyes flicked up-fast-then away, like she couldn’t handle direct impact.

She kicked his shoe under the table, gentle but very real.

“Don’t get used to that tone,” she muttered.

Mike’s smile turned wicked.

“I absolutely will.”

El rolled her eyes-classic El defense mechanism-but her cheeks betrayed her immediately.

And then, like she couldn’t help it, she said it back.

“My fiancé,” El tried, too casual, and failed spectacularly.

Mike froze.

Full system crash.

El’s mouth twitched.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to die.”

“I might,” he whispered.
“In a very romantic way.”

She kicked him again, harder this time, because she had no other place to put the energy.

Mike laughed-bright, young, unfairly happy.

The word sat between them now.

Fiancé. Fiancée.

It sounded reckless.
It sounded like sixteen.

“Say it again,” El said suddenly, too quick to stop herself.

Mike blinked. “What?”

El pretended to study the menu like it was a legal document.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You did,” he said, eyes wide. “You-”

“I said if you say it again I’m stealing your dessert,” she corrected, voice sharp with fake authority.

Mike grinned.

“My fiancée wants my cake?”

El’s cheeks warmed before she could stop them.

“Mike.”

“Yes,” he said sweetly, “future Mrs. Wheeler?”

El pressed her lips together, because if she laughed too hard she might cry.

And she did not want to cry in front of bread.

Then, quieter-like he couldn’t help it-he said it again.

“My fiancée.”

El’s eyes snapped up.

For a second she looked almost offended by how good it felt.

Then her voice dropped, softer.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it’s… easy.”

Mike’s grin faded into something gentler.

“It’s not easy,” he said.
“It’s just-mine.”

El swallowed.

Then she kicked him again because feelings were inconvenient.

“Tell me about Jane,” she said, too fast.

Mike’s face changed instantly-the way it always did when he said his daughter’s name. Pride, softness, a kind of fierce devotion.

“She wants to be a Disney princess who studies marine biology,” he said.
“Apparently Ariel set unrealistic career standards.”

“That’s… oddly ambitious,” El laughed into her napkin.

“That’s Jane.” Mike’s eyes warmed. “Look. Two months ago-”

El listened while he talked, watching his hands move, watching the love show up in every tiny sentence like it had nowhere else to go.

“You’re a good father,” she said suddenly.

Mike froze mid-bite.

“I’m… trying.”

“You are,” El said, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

Mike set his fork down.

“You, me, Jane,” he said quietly.
“Some plan that isn’t just panic and running.”

El reached across the table and took his hand.

Her thumb brushed his knuckle once, twice-absent, intimate.

“That sounds like a miracle compared to what we used to have,” she whispered.

And for a moment, under the restaurant lights, they looked exactly like kids again-

two teenagers holding hands like the world had never been allowed to break them.

Outside, Reykjavík was cold and gentle, streetlights trembling in the wind.

Mike helped her into her coat.

“My fiancée shouldn’t freeze,” he muttered, trying to sound casual and failing completely.

El didn’t answer-just raised her eyebrows and gave him a look that said don’t push your luck.

Mike chuckled, already pushing it.

They walked slowly, hands tangled, like they were afraid the city might steal the moment if they moved too fast.

“You know,” Mike said, glancing at her,
“first evening as an engaged couple and we didn’t even cause a disaster.”

“Give it time,” El replied.

He laughed.

“I like this version of us.”

El squeezed his fingers.

“Me too.”

Inside, the room felt different than the first two nights-like it had quietly updated its opinion of them.

El set her coat on the chair.
Mike dropped the keys on the desk and suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands, his arms, his entire adult body.

They stood there for a second like teenagers who’d snuck into a place they were absolutely allowed to be.

Then El laughed softly.

“We’re terrible at this.”

“At what?”

“Acting like normal people.”

Mike nodded solemnly.

“Normal people are overrated.”

She stepped closer and fixed the collar of his shirt for no real reason.

“You were very charming at dinner,” she said.
“And extremely red.”

“I was attacked by an attractive English teacher. Trauma.”

El rolled her eyes and slid her arms around his neck.

“Idiot…”

They kissed without ceremony-
no fireworks, no drama,
just a kiss that already knew the shape of home.

Mike rested his forehead against hers.

“I spent ten years trying to imagine what this would feel like.”

“And?”

“Turns out my imagination was trash.”

She laughed into his shoulder.

They moved slowly after that-
like people who’d learned the hard way that rushing steals things.

El changed into one of his t-shirts.

Mike washed his face, came back, and stopped in the doorway just to look at her sitting cross-legged on the bed, hair loose, flipping through the hotel channel guide like it was a sacred text.

“You’re pretty,” he said out loud without meaning to.

El glanced up.

“Still?”

“Still.”

“Good.”

Mike leaned against the frame, arms crossed.

“You know, statistically speaking, I should be used to that by now.”

“To what?”

“Being engaged to someone out of my league.”

El threw a pillow at him.

“Watch it, Wheeler.”

He caught it, grinning.

“See? Fiancée violence. First day.”

“Keep talking and there’ll be more.”

“Threats already? Marriage is going great.”

Mike let the pillow drop and looked at her for a second too long-
not playful this time. Just warm. Present. A little dangerous in the quietest way.

“Come here,” he said, softer now.

El pretended to think about it.

“That sounds suspicious.”

“Everything I do is suspicious. It’s part of my charm.”

She stepped closer anyway.

He rested his hands at her waist like he was allowed to now-
like the world had finally signed the paperwork.

“Just so we’re clear,” Mike murmured,

“I plan to be extremely inappropriate about the words wife and my wife for the rest of my natural life,” Mike said, dead serious.

El blinked.

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is. A loving, legally binding threat.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet-fiancée approved.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“You’re going to be unbearable, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. Grocery stores, doctor’s offices, random strangers on the street-
‘Have you met my wife?’
‘Excuse me, my wife prefers the window seat.’
‘Sorry, can’t commit crimes, my wife would be disappointed.’”

El tried not to laugh and failed.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Mike leaned in, voice dropping.

“Get used to it. I waited ten years for that word. I’m going to abuse it like a privilege card.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself.

“God help me.”

“Too late. Paperwork’s already in motion.”

“I noticed.”

“And you’re not stopping me.”

El tilted her head.

He kissed her then-
not rushed, not dramatic, just certain-
the kind of kiss that said we’re not borrowing time anymore, we live here now.

El laughed against his mouth.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Engaged insufferable,” he corrected.

“Worse.”

“Much worse.”

Her fingers found the collar of his shirt, and whatever joke he was about to make dissolved completely.

The room felt smaller. Warmer. Like the air had decided to lean in with them.
Not loud, not cinematic.

Later, the world returned in pieces.

Mike lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His breathing was still uneven, a little dazed, a little triumphant.

El laughed softly against his shoulder.

“What?” she whispered.

“I’m just… updating my life résumé,” Mike murmured.
“New skill unlocked: fiancé-level activities.”

She smacked his chest lightly.

“Don’t call it that.”

“Too late. It’s officially our first engaged-people event. Historic moment. Should we frame the pillow?”

El buried her face into his neck, half laughing, half groaning.

“You’re impossible.”

“Hey.. I’ve got a whole season of jokes in storage.”

Her fingers traced lazy circles on his arm.

“You talk too much,” she said, but her voice had no real complaint in it.

“Yeah,” Mike admitted. “Nervous system rebooting. Please hold.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.

“You okay?”

He turned toward her, suddenly softer.

“More than okay,” he said quietly. “Kind of stupid happy, actually.”

El smiled, that small private one she only used for him.

“Good.”

Mike pressed a kiss to her hair and let out a slow breath, like he was finally landing after a very long fall.

They talked until their voices turned lazy and soft.

About Jane.
About Hawkins.
About The Party.

At some point the words stopped mattering.

El kissed the corner of his mouth-gentle, unhurried-
and the conversation quietly surrendered to something older than language.

The TV kept flickering blue shadows.
The city kept breathing outside.

Inside, the room learned a new shape around them.

Later, she fell asleep with her face tucked into his neck.

Mike pulled the blanket higher around them.

He stayed awake a little longer-
guarding the moment like a ridiculous dragon over a ridiculous treasure.

“Fourth night,” he whispered to the dark.
“And I still can’t believe you’re here.”

El shifted in her sleep, the blanket slipping just enough to remind him how real this was.
No borrowed t-shirt now-only warm skin, tangled sheets, and the soft proof that the world hadn’t ended when he was afraid it would.

Mike watched the rise and fall of her breathing and felt something tighten in his chest.

You’re just here, he thought.

And somehow that’s even more terrifying.

Not just her body.
Everything.

The years he’d spent building walls.
The mornings he’d learned to survive alone.
The man he’d forced himself to become.

All of it lying beside her now-bare, honest, without armor.

He remembered the first time he’d given her a piece of his clothing-
some stupid jacket in Hawkins, back when the world still pretended to be normal.
She’d looked smaller then. More fragile.

Now she looked… unbreakable.

Mike traced the air above her shoulder without touching.

“I missed whole versions of you,” he thought.
“Ten birthdays. Ten winters. Ten different ways you learned how to laugh again.”

His throat burned.

He thought about the day he’d landed in Iceland.

And then today-
a waterfall, a ring he’d bought before courage could change its mind.

Too fast, a voice said.
Too sudden.

Another answered back, calmer.

Ten years isn’t sudden.

He looked at her hand resting on his chest-the ring catching the dim light like a quiet promise.

“Crazy decision,” he murmured to no one.

El made a small sound-half dream, half memory.

Mike froze.

“Hey,” he whispered instinctively,
“I’m here.”

Her face relaxed.

The universe had a strange sense of humor:
this powerful, impossible woman sleeping in a hotel room in Reykjavík, completely unguarded, trusting him with a version of herself she didn’t show the world.

He thought about Jane.

Family.

The word didn’t feel impossible anymore.

Mike closed his eyes and let his cheek rest near her hair.

For years he’d imagined what this would feel like-
finding her again, holding her again.

In his head it had always been loud. Cinematic. Explosive.

But the truth was quieter.

It smelled like hotel soap and her hair.
It sounded like distant traffic and her breathing close.
It felt like warm skin under his hand and the steady rhythm of a heart he’d learned to live without-badly.

Simple.
Human.
Real.

“Stay,” he thought-not to her, not to the world,
just to the fragile luck that had brought them here.

El’s hand found his chest in her sleep, palm warm over his heart.

Mike let out a slow breath.

He held her a little tighter.

Outside, the city kept being ordinary.

Inside, something impossible slept in his arms.

And for the first time in a decade,
Mike Wheeler fell asleep without rehearsing how to survive tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Morning light slipped through the curtains and El heard the sound before anything else.
Not the city.
Not the wind.

Mike’s breathing.
Slow. Heavy. Sleep-soft.

She didn’t open her eyes right away. Because if she did, it felt like the spell would break. Like someone would knock on the door and say, “Alright. Joke’s over.”

Her back was pressed to Mike’s chest. There wasn’t even a thin layer of fabric between them. The warmth against her skin was real. Steady. Not disappearing.

She moved her fingers slightly. The ring caught the morning light.

For a second her heart sped up.

This is real.
I’m engaged.

Even thinking the word sent a rush through her, excitement tangled with something almost like embarrassment. She was twenty-six. She had spent her entire life at war. And still...

The fact that there wasn’t even a thin piece of fabric between her back and his chest was enough to turn her bright red.

Sixteen.

Her body’s reaction was sixteen.

She could almost hear Hopper’s Blazer in her head. The heavy slam of the door. A voice shouting, “Three inches!”

Her shoulders tensed automatically.

Unsupervised.

The word echoed.

Nothing had ever been unsupervised at sixteen.

Her instinct still expected interruption.

A knock.
A shout.
A door opening too fast.

At sixteen, privacy had been a myth.

There had always been something.

Time together had been scheduled.
Stolen.
Half-finished.

Every time they leaned in to kiss, a door would crack open.
A phone would ring.
A mission would come up.
Training.
Soldiers.
Running.

They had never gone to the movies together.
Never sat in a simple restaurant arguing about what was on the menu.
Never had dinner like a normal couple and said, “Should we get dessert?”

The world had always been on fire.

There had always been something between them.

And now...

They had been waking up in the same bed for nights.

They had seen each other at their most unguarded.

Skin to skin.

Time moving forward as if it didn’t owe them anything.

It shouldn’t be this easy.

El opened her eyes.

She looked at the ring again.

Sixteen-year-old El whispered inside her:
Is this real?

Twenty-six-year-old El answered:
Yes. This time no one is going to knock.

But she didn’t fully believe it.

Mike’s arm rested heavy and possessive around her waist. Even in sleep, he hadn’t let go.

A thought slipped in before she could stop it.

What if this gets taken from me too?

Her chest tightened.

It felt like a part of her had frozen at sixteen. Like they had stopped there, and the world had dragged them forward while those two kids stayed behind, still waiting.

Mike had never really lost his sixteen-year-old self. His voice still softened when he said her name. His ears still flushed when he was embarrassed. When he loved, he still forgot the rest of the world.

Maybe that was why she was afraid.

Because it felt like time had paused and now it was moving again.

Slowly, she turned her head and watched him.

In sleep, his face looked younger. Softer. Like the boy from the basement had surfaced again.

That boy.

Her thoughts softened.

Fourteen-year-old Mike.

Standing in her room with a tiny promise ring, stammering.

“I just-I mean-if you want-I just thought-”

So serious. So honest.

And yesterday-

The same look.

The same shaking hands.

Just braver.

Her chest ached. A good ache.

It’s like we froze together, she thought. Like we stayed sixteen and now we’re continuing in adult bodies.

She shifted, meaning to get up.

His arm tightened instantly.

“No,” he mumbled, burying his face against the back of her neck.

Her breath caught.

“Mike…”

“Mm?”

“I have to get up.”

“Forbidden.” he said, voice still thick with sleep. “New rule. Fiancées are required to remain in bed.”

“I have school.”

One eye opened.

“My fiancée has class.”

Her heart sped up again.

My fiancée.

“Don’t start,” she muttered, but her voice was weak.

“I’m starting. Forever.”

His breath warmed the back of her neck. The simplicity of the contact scrambled her insides in the most inconvenient way.

Sixteen-year-old El whispered:
We’re going to get caught.

Twenty-six-year-old El answered:
By who?

No one.

It was just them in this room.

“What are you teaching today?” he asked, still not letting go.

“Numbers with the little ones. Colors with the older group. I’ll make them sing. We’ll reinforce the letter B with word examples. Four hours of class.”

“Bride,” he said instantly.

Her face went up in flames.

“Mike!”

“I’m contributing to education.”

“I am not teaching children the word bride.”

“I think 'bride' is extremely appropriate.”

She elbowed him.

“We’re checking out today, you know. We need to pack,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. “After school we’re heading back to town.”

He paused.

Then slowly raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” he said. “So my fiancée is taking me home?”

“You’ve already been. You literally got your head cracked there. You slept there. This isn’t new.”

“But…”

She rolled her eyes.

“Mike.”

He pulled her a little closer, and she could feel the shameless grin against her skin.

Her cheeks burned instantly.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

He was enjoying this far too much.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll behave. But if at any point you say ‘come here,’ I cannot be held responsible for how I interpret that.”

She elbowed him again.

“You’re perfectly ridiculous right now.”

“Your fiancé is ridiculous.”

She glanced back at him over her shoulder, jaw tight.

He looked deeply pleased with himself.

She laughed anyway.

But a small part of her was still stunned.

The waterfall.
Him on one knee.
The ring.
Him saying “fiancée” in the restaurant.

It still made her blush.

Being this close to him pulled her straight back to sixteen. That near-caught panic. Her heart in her throat.

Even if no one was going to burst through the door, her body still carried the old alarm.

“I feel like I’m going to wake up,” she said quietly.

He went serious.

“You’re not.”

“It feels like someone’s about to knock.”

“No one’s going to knock.”

“I know.”

But knowing and feeling were different things.

She leaned back into his chest.

Maybe she should get used to skin on skin.

But maybe she didn’t want to.

Because the shyness… the flushing… the racing heart…

It meant sixteen-year-old El was still alive inside her.

And not having completely lost that girl was, strangely, comforting.

Mike pressed his lips to her shoulder.

“You’re leaving me.”

“For four hours.”

“That’s too long.”

“I have students.”

“I exist too.”

She smiled.

“I know.”

Silence.

Her inner voice spoke again.

Maybe that’s why this feels so intense. Because for the first time no one is interrupting us. The world isn’t burning. It’s just us.

They had never had a morning this simple.

And the simplicity felt like a miracle.

She slowly sat up, pulling the sheet around herself.

Mike watched her like sunrise.

Her face warmed again.

Twenty-six.
Engaged.
Still blushing.

Sixteen-year-old El laughed inside her.

Guess I’m still the same girl.

Twenty-six-year-old El whispered back:
But we’re not running anymore.

No one is separating us this time.

And maybe that was the most terrifying part.

Because now they had no excuses.

Only choices.

And for the first time, El was consciously choosing to stay... with a morning, with a man, with a ring.

The place where they had breakfast was small. The windows were fogged over, and the air smelled of coffee and toasted bread. The tables were close together; an elderly couple at the next table was sharing a newspaper as they read. The world was ordinary. They were sitting inside a morning that was unsettlingly normal.

El held her cup with both hands, as if she needed the warmth.

Mike was watching her, but his eyes weren’t soft this time. There was calculation in his expression -the look of a man running numbers in his head.

“Okay. Today’s plan,” he said, tossing the napkin he’d rolled into a tight ball onto the table.

El lifted her head.

“I’ll drop you off at school. Then I’ll go back to the hotel and pack up. I’ll take care of check-out.”

El listened quietly.

“I’ll return the rental car. Then I’ll take your car from in front of the hotel and come to the school. I’ll pick you up.”

El gave a small nod.

“Tonight… we’ll talk in detail,” Mike continued. “As clearly as possible. We’ll lay out every possibility. Every option. And we’ll evaluate all of them. Our primary goal is finding a solution where we’re not separated.”

He paused for a moment.

“I’ll also check flights. For tomorrow or the day after. I need to wrap up the book and send it to my editor, and the extra leave we got from Jane’s school is ending. She needs to go back.”

The sentence was normal.

Reasonable things.

But El’s face fell despite herself.

Just slightly.

But Mike saw it.

The last few days…

The waterfall.

The restaurant.

The night.

The mornings.

Falling asleep with him. Waking up with him.

And now.. “flight tickets.”

“Jane’s school is starting.”

Reality was returning.

El looked at the ring on her finger.

After happiness this intense, separation settled over her like a shadow.

The thought that this morning wouldn’t repeat itself or the mornings before it.

Mike set his glass down.

“Hey.”

His voice was gentle, but his face was serious.

El lifted her head.

“I know that look.”

“It’s nothing,” she said with a smile that wasn’t convincing.

Mike leaned a little closer.

“Tonight, we’re going to make the right decision. We’ll find the optimal path. I’ll start working on it immediately. I’ll do whatever it takes for our family.”

His eyes had hardened. The boyish excitement was gone. The man in front of her was calm and resolute.

“We’re engaged, El.” He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair at her temple behind her ear. “We’re going to be a family. I have zero intention of letting you go. Zero.”

Firm.

Clear.

Not open to debate.

In that moment, El saw him not just as an emotional lover, but as a man.

Determined.

Protective of his family.

When they got into the car, the silence was heavier.

When they arrived in front of the school, he turned off the engine, but El didn’t get out immediately.

Mike turned his face toward her.

“Look at me.”

El did.

He gently lifted her chin with his hand.

“Life isn’t going to separate us. This time, we’re the ones setting the rules. Realistic rules.”

El’s breath trembled.

“We’ll talk tonight. Calmly. Smartly. And together. Okay?”

El nodded slowly.

Mike held her chin and guided her face toward his, then kissed her.

Soft.

Slow.

Tender.

El’s circuits short-circuited.

As passionate as last night’s kiss had been, this one was just as gentle.

This was safe.

This was I’m not running.

This was an I’m here kind of kiss.

El’s hand drifted instinctively to the collar of his shirt.

When the kiss ended, she couldn’t open her eyes for a few seconds.

Before opening the door, she looked at him for one more second.

That resolute face.

That grown-up gaze.

There was clarity there.

“El,” he said one last time.

“I love you.”

El smiled softly.

“I love you too.”

She stepped out of the car.

As she walked toward the door, she looked back.

Mike was still watching her.

When El stepped through the school doors, she was someone else.

Her shoulders were straight.
Her steps measured.
A calm teacher’s smile rested on her face.

No one here called her Terry.

Here, she was Lilja. The name on her ID. One of the many names she carried.

The hallway was filled with the sounds of morning -children’s shrieks, zippers sliding, the wet thud of boots against the floor.

She smiled at the woman on duty by the door.

“Góðan morgun, Sigríður.”
(Good morning, Sigríður.)

The woman looked up and smiled back.

“Góðan morgun, Lilja. Fallegur dagur í dag.”
(Good morning, Lilja. Beautiful day today.)

“Já, loksins smá sól.”
(Yes, finally a little sun.)

A child in the corridor had gotten stuck in the sleeve of his coat.

“Bíddu, hjálpa ég þér.”
(Wait, let me help you.)

She knelt down. Small fingers. Impatient breaths.

“Svona. Nú ertu tilbúinn.”
(There. Now you’re ready.)

The child grinned and ran off.

A mother approached her.

“Takk fyrir í gær. Hún talaði allan tímann um lagið.”
(Thank you for yesterday. She talked about the song all evening.)

El smiled.

“Það gleður mig. Við syngjum aftur í dag.”
(I’m glad to hear that. We’ll sing again today.)

Her voice was softer here. Steadier. Safer.

When she entered the teachers’ lounge, the air was warm with the scent of coffee and paper.

She wished everyone good morning. She smiled at her colleagues and opened her locker. She took out her daily planner. She sat at the table, propped her chin in her left hand, and reviewed her lesson plan.

That was when a voice came from across the table.

“Lilja…”

Three teachers were leaning over the table, smiling and looking at her with barely contained excitement. Their eyes went straight to her ring.

“Er þetta það sem ég held að það sé?”
(Is that what I think it is?)

A faint warmth crept into El’s cheeks.

“Kannski.”
(Maybe.)

Another jumped in eagerly.

“Bíddu. Hvenær gerðist þetta?”
(Wait. When did this happen?)

“Í gær.”
(Yesterday.)

The third teacher let out a dramatic breath.

“Stefán?! Þið loksins?”
(Stefan?! Finally?)

El rolled her eyes.

“Nei. Ekki Stefán.”
(No. Not Stefan.)

“Ó, kommon, Lilja. Hann hefur alltaf haft augun á þér.”
(Oh, come on, Lilja. He’s always had his eyes on you.)

El shook her head.

“Hann er bara vinur minn. Mjög góður vinur. Ekkert meira.”
(He’s just my friend. A very good friend. Nothing more.)

Another one giggled.

“Já já. ‘Bara vinur.’ Við trúum því alveg.”
(Yeah, yeah. ‘Just a friend.’ We totally believe that.)

El shook her head again.

“Í alvöru. Ekki Stefán.”
(Seriously. Not Stefan.)

One teacher slapped her hand against the table.

“Bíddu! Ég veit!”
(Wait! I know!)

They all turned to her.

“Maðurinn sem sótti þig í gær! Sá hávaxni, krullhærði! Stelpur, þið munið ekki trúa þessu… Hann kyssti Lilju eins og hann hefði ekki borðað í viku!”
(The man who picked you up yesterday! The tall, curly-haired one! Girls, you won’t believe this… He kissed Lilja like he hadn’t eaten in a week!)

She whispered that last sentence.

El burst out laughing, her mouth falling open in shock, and tossed her pen at the teacher.

Another one practically shrieked.

“Guð minn góður! Elskan!!”
(Oh my God! Girl!!)

“Lilja… hvar fannstu hann?”
(Lilja… where did you find him?)

Laughter rose around the room.

El pressed her lips together but couldn’t hide her smile.

“Hann fann mig.”
(He found me.)

A collective “oooo” rippled through the room.

“Ertu virkilega trúlofuð núna?”
(So you’re really engaged now?)

“Já.”
(Yes.)

This time her voice was different.

Deeper.
Calmer.

Her friends exchanged glances.

“Vá, Lilja.”
(Wow, Lilja.)