Archive of Our Own ^beta

It all started before Will's disappearance.

Joyce knew that Mike and Will had a close bond—always stuck at the hip, always orbiting one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. It never crossed her mind that some of the behaviors they exhibited could be cause for concern. In her eyes, they simply took care of one another, and what kind of mother wouldn't want that for her delicate son? In a family of omegas, even a beta presence made a difference—grounded him, steadied him.

She noticed it in small ways.

Mike was always the one who walked Will home, even when it meant taking the longer route. He hovered when Will grew quiet, eyes tracking him with an intensity Joyce chalked up to loyalty. If Will was overwhelmed, Mike somehow knew before anyone else did—offering his jacket, standing closer, steering conversations away before they ever turned sharp.

And at times, when it was time to go home after a long day of playdates, Will would cry and refuse to leave. Mike would fuss over him, voice urgent, begging Joyce to let Will sleep over—or at least stay a little longer, anything to keep him from being so upset. Will's distress seemed to strike Mike with genuine terror. It was as if Will's pain echoed inside him, sharper, heavier, impossible to ignore.

When they napped, Mike would watch over Will for a quiet while before finally settling beside him—curling close, wrapping himself around Will like a shield, as though his body alone could keep everything else away.

Joyce thought it was sweet.

They had met as small kids on the playground, scraped knees and grass-stained jeans, and grew together into increasingly sophisticated fifth graders. They shared lunches, secrets, inside jokes that made no sense to anyone else. Mike defended Will without hesitation; Will trusted Mike without question. Their bond was one of pure loyalty and respect—clean, uncomplicated, and entirely innocent.

Then Will disappeared.

Everyone was distraught—but none of them broke the way the Byers family did.

Joyce came apart in ways she didn't know a body could. Her instincts screamed constantly, an unrelenting ache that left her breathless and shaking. Every nerve in her body told her her pup was gone—lost, hurt, calling for her somewhere she couldn't reach. She paced the house until her feet ached, fingers twitching as if she could still feel Will's small hand in hers. Sleep became impossible. Eating felt wrong. The world narrowed to one singular truth: something was missing, and it was tearing her open from the inside out.

Jonathan tried to be strong. He really did. But the absence of his baby brother hollowed him out, leaving behind a quiet, suffocating guilt that settled in his chest like lead. He replayed every moment he could remember—every walk home he hadn't taken with Will, every time he'd chosen distance over closeness. The house felt wrong without Will's quiet presence, his soft humming, his laughter echoing faintly from memory. The silence was deafening.

The Byers home—once warm despite its struggles—felt like a grave.

An all-omega household without its youngest was unbearable. The emptiness pressed in from every corner, thick and relentless. It was like being trapped in a snowstorm with no fire, like standing in a hailstorm with no shelter—raw, exposed, and endlessly cold. Every room reminded them of what they had lost.

And Will's friends felt it too.

At twelve, they were all standing on the fragile edge of change—secondary genders barely beginning to stir, instincts still quiet enough to be ignored. But the terror of Will's disappearance shattered that fragile balance. Stress flooded their systems, fear and grief forcing their bodies into overdrive long before they were ready.

The party fractured under the weight of it.

They argued more. Snapped faster. Cried when they thought no one was looking. The absence of Will—quiet, gentle Will—left a hole none of them knew how to fill. He had been their anchor, their soft place to land, and without him the world felt sharper, more dangerous.

Mike started first.

Something in him broke open the moment Will didn't come home.

It wasn't gradual. It wasn't subtle. One day he was a scared twelve-year-old boy, and the next his body was locked in a constant state of panic—heart racing, hands shaking, thoughts spiraling endlessly around a single, unbearable truth. He couldn't sit still. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe without feeling like something was horribly, irreversibly wrong.

The world felt wrong without Will in it.

Mike became frantic, obsessive. He searched longer than anyone else, refused to give up when adults told him to accept the worst. Every instinct in him screamed that Will was still out there—alive, hurting, waiting. The fear was physical, a gnawing ache in his chest that flared into nausea whenever he imagined Will alone and scared.

He didn't know why the pain was so intense.

He only knew that it was unbearable.

Mike stopped sleeping properly.

When he did collapse from exhaustion, it was never for long. He woke up gasping, heart hammering, palms damp with sweat, a single name lodged painfully in his throat. He paced the house at night, bare feet whispering across the floor, drawn again and again to the same place—Will's clothes

It still smelled like him.

Not strongly. Not enough. But enough to keep Mike breathing.

He would sit on his bed and clutch the sleeves of his shirts in his fists, pressing the fabric to his face without quite understanding why it helped. The scent was faint—soap, crayons, something soft and familiar—but it grounded him in a way nothing else could. When the panic threatened to swallow him whole, when the world tilted too sharply, that lingering trace was the only thing that kept him from falling apart entirely.

Sometimes he cried into the clothes. Sometimes he just sat there, shaking.

Mike went through Will's things obsessively. He traced the lines of his drawings with trembling fingers, memorizing every curve, every familiar choice of color. He whispered apologies to an empty basement, promises he didn't know how to keep. He lined the drawings up neatly, as if order might somehow bring Will back.

The worst part was the silence inside his head.

It was too quiet—wrongly so. Like something vital had been ripped away, leaving behind a constant, screaming absence. His body stayed locked in a state of alert, muscles tight, jaw clenched, as if danger was always seconds away. He flinched at sudden noises. Snapped at his parents. Lashed out at Lucas without meaning to.

He felt feral.

There were moments—brief, terrifying moments—when he thought he could feel Will. A tug in his chest. A sharp spike of panic that came out of nowhere. A sudden, overwhelming certainty that Will was cold, or scared, or calling out for him. Mike would bolt upright, breath hitching, eyes wild, convinced he had missed something—some sign, some clue, some chance to save him.

The adults told him he was imagining things.

Mike knew they were wrong.

Because whatever this was—it wasn't just grief.

It was his body rebelling against the separation, instincts screaming at him to find, to protect, to fix something that had gone catastrophically wrong. He felt hollowed out and overfull all at once, like his chest couldn't contain the fear burning through it.

He didn't understand why his pain felt sharper than everyone else's.

He only knew that the world would not make sense again until Will was back where he belonged. With him.

His frantic hours were making the rest of the group suffer too.

Lucas felt it as an ache that settled deep in his bones, heavy and unrelenting. There was an overwhelming need in him—raw and instinctive—to bring Will back. To return him to the group safe and whole, back where he belonged. It felt wrong to sit still while one of theirs was missing. Wrong to wait. Wrong to trust that adults would handle it.

Will was part of their pack, and Lucas had failed him.

The guilt gnawed at him constantly. He replayed every moment in his head—every time he had hugged Will goodbye, every joke, every second they'd spent together as best friends. His chest tightened whenever he thought about Will alone, unprotected, facing something none of them could even name. The thought made something sharp flare inside him, anger and fear twisting together until he felt sick with it.

Lucas became restless, pacing, snapping, always on edge. He volunteered for the dangerous parts of the search without hesitation, stepping forward instinctively whenever there was a risk to be taken. If he could just do something—if he could just find Will—maybe the crushing sense of failure would ease.

He should have protected him.

That was what hurt the most.

Dustin's grief was quieter, but no less heavy.

He missed Will with an aching, hollow longing that made everything feel off-kilter. Will had been the soft center of the group, the calm presence that smoothed over arguments and made their little party feel complete. Without him, conversations faltered. Jokes landed wrong. Silence stretched too long.

The world felt colder without Will.

Dustin tried to hold everyone together—talking too much, filling the empty spaces, clinging to routine like it might keep them from falling apart completely. But no matter how hard he tried, something was missing. The group felt uneven, like a puzzle with a piece torn away. He felt it every time he looked at Mike's hollow eyes or Lucas's clenched jaw.

Will was the glue.

And without him, everything threatened to come undone.

They were too young to understand what was happening to them—why their bodies felt wrong, why their emotions burned too hot, why fear and grief seemed to crawl under their skin and refuse to leave. All they knew was that one of theirs was gone, and the absence hurt in ways they couldn't explain.

The pack was broken, and until Will came home, none of them would be whole again.

—

Joyce was less attentive to her thirteen-year-old once he was home—safe, alive, and no longer actively being invaded by soul-stealing monsters from another dimension. Jonathan, too, began to pull away, his attention shifting more and more toward Nancy, toward a life that was slowly starting to move forward again.

Will noticed.

He had always been the delicate one in the family. Even before everything, he had been careful, quiet—an easy target for his father's cruelty, for words meant to shame him for being too soft, too strange, too much. But after the Mind Flayer, after being possessed and used and hollowed out, that delicateness was treated like something fragile that had already been fixed.

Everything was turned down too many notches.

And Will hated it.

His body still felt wrong. Too sensitive. Too aware. His instincts—new and half-formed—never seemed to settle. He startled easily. Crowded rooms made his chest ache. Sometimes he felt hollow in a way he couldn't explain, like something essential had been taken and never fully returned.

He hated how his mother and brother acted like everything was fine now, like the Upside Down and the Mind Flayer were distant memories instead of scars that still ached. Like the worst thing that had ever happened to him was simply over.

That hurt enough on its own—but his friends were no better.

It was as if Will coming back meant everything else snapped back into place, too. Normal schedules. Normal lives. Normal growing up. He didn't expect them to hover the way Joyce and Jonathan sometimes did, but he hadn't expected to feel so... left behind.

They got girlfriends.

They skipped game nights.

They filled their time with things Will didn't know how to fit himself into.

He felt stuck—watching everyone else surge forward while he was still dreaming about the time he'd lost, the childhood swallowed by fear and cold and a place that had worn his body like a costume.

And then there was Mike.

Mike had been different.

Even at twelve, there had been something unmistakable about him—something anchored. He had hovered close to Will instinctively, body always angled toward him, attention never truly drifting. In the hospital, Mike had stayed for hours, sometimes entire days, as if leaving Will's side physically hurt.

Mike's presence had been grounding in a way nothing else was. His voice steady. His touch careful but constant. When doctors attached wires and strange machines to Will's head, Mike would rub slow, reassuring circles into his leg without being asked—like his body knew what Will needed before Will did.

When the nightmares came, Mike was always there.

"Hey. Hey, it's okay," he would whisper, already climbing into the narrow hospital bed, curling around Will like a shield. "It's just a nightmare. You're safe."

Will barely had to wake. Mike's voice cut through the fear instantly. Clumsy fingers wiped tears from his face, steady and warm, and Will would drift back under—heart slowing, breathing evening out.

And the scent.

Will hadn't understood it then, but he felt it now in its absence. Mike had smelled like safety. Like home. Something warm and familiar that told Will's body it was allowed to rest. Being near him had quieted everything inside Will—his fear, his sensitivity, the strange pull in his chest that never quite went away.

At twelve, Mike had been his safe space.

So when Mike started dating Eleven—when his attention shifted, when his presence thinned, when that familiar grounding scent stopped surrounding Will like a constant—it felt like something inside Will destabilized.

Mike stopped hovering.

Stopped sitting close.

Stopped instinctively reaching for him.

And Will felt it immediately.

The loss wasn't just emotional—it was physical. His body felt unmoored, restless, like it kept waiting for something that never came. The comfort he had relied on without realizing it was suddenly gone.

Just like that.

Mike didn't mean to hurt him. Will knew that. But knowing didn't make it hurt less, because everyone else had moved on.

And now—even Mike, who had once felt as essential as breathing—was leaving him behind.

Will survived the Upside Down, but this? This was a different kind of devastation. It hurt in a way he couldn't quite understand—quiet, relentless, all-consuming. Like rejection from something higher than logic. Like being found lacking by the universe itself. His chest ached constantly, a hollow pressure that never eased no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

His mind couldn't make sense of it.

Why wasn't he enough anymore?

Why wasn't he useful to Mike now?

Mike had chosen Eleven. Chosen her presence, her space, her scent. And Will's body reacted to that choice like it was a wound. Something deep inside him recoiled, instincts screaming that something was wrong—that a bond had been loosened, neglected, pulled away from without warning.

His body urged him to fix it.

To apologize.

To make himself smaller.

To be better, quieter, easier to keep.

He caught himself doing it without realizing—holding his breath around Mike, watching every word he said, every laugh he shared with someone else. Like if he could just adjust himself correctly, the world might snap back into place.

It never did.

The feelings refused to fade. They followed him everywhere, clinging to his thoughts until there was no room for anything else. So Will did the only thing he could think to do—he tried to bring everyone back together.

He asked them to play.

To sit on the basement floor like they used to. To roll dice. To laugh. To just exist together, the way they had before the world broke and took pieces of them with it. He tried to rebuild the pack the only way he knew how—through closeness, routine, shared space.

But no one really tried.

Mike brushed him off gently but firmly, always distracted, always busy. "Later, okay?" he'd say. "I'm with El." And every time, it felt like something inside Will caved in a little more.

Dustin was wrapped up in radios and long-distance calls, voice bright and hopeful whenever Susie's name came up. Lucas and Max still made time for him—truly tried—and Will appreciated them more than he could say.

But their constant flirting made it hard to breathe sometimes. It was a reminder that everyone else was moving forward. Pairing off. Growing up. Finding their person. And Will was still standing there, reaching backward.

Still aching for the comfort he'd once had without even knowing how desperately his body had relied on it. Still missing the grounding presence of the person who had once orbiting him like it was instinct.

—

After everything fell apart—after Hawkins, after the Byers family and Jane moved away—Will finally began to change too.

His body didn't give him time to prepare.

The awakening came hard and fast, his first heat crashing over him like a punishment rather than a milestone. It was painful in the way only something deeply wrong could be—bone-deep, soul-crushing, leaving him trembling and empty. No comfort instinct kicked in. No safety followed. Just ache, confusion, and the horrible certainty that his body was demanding something it could not have.

Mike.

The realization made him cry harder than the pain ever could.

He wanted comfort. Consolation. Acceptance. He wanted to feel needed—wanted by someone the way his body insisted he should be. Instead, he curled in on himself, shaking, swallowing down sobs he didn't know how to justify.

By the time the heat passed, it left him hollowed out.

Painting became the only thing that kept him upright.

He poured everything into it—every emotion, every fear, every longing he couldn't say out loud. The mural grew slowly, deliberately, each stroke heavy with meaning. Every color, every line, every shadow carried the same truth, whether he wanted it to or not.

There was only ever one person on his mind.

And that realization filled him with shame.

A zombie boy.

Queer.

An omega.

In love with his sister's boyfriend.

What more could the universe possibly take from him?

At school, Will kept his head down. He walked close to Jane, stuck to her side like glue. Wherever she went, he followed—silent, watchful, protective in the only way he knew how to be. Jane had developed as an enigma, unreadable and strange to instinct, and Will felt no shame in dousing her in his scent. If it confused people, if it unsettled them, he didn't care.

She needed comfort.

She needed safety.

It hurt to watch her get picked on.

Every cruel word made something twist painfully in his chest. He felt it in his soul when Jane stared back at the bullies, confused and hurt, clearly wondering why. Why people could be so cruel for no reason at all.

Will hated himself for being too weak.

He hated that all he could do was console her—brush loose leaves from her hair, gently untangle knots where hands had yanked too hard at her curls. He wanted to do more. Wanted to be stronger. Wanted to be someone who could stop it instead of just soothe the aftermath.

And he hated—hated—that he envied her.

Jane was struggling. Grieving. Isolated. And still, Will felt something ugly coil in his chest every time a letter arrived from Mike addressed to her.

And not him.

It came to a breaking point one afternoon, when Will hovered too close as Jane wrote back. He leaned against her shoulder, eyes skimming the page despite himself, reading Mike's familiar handwriting with something sharp and bitter burning in his chest.

He didn't realize how much scent he was releasing, not until his mother knocked on Jane's door, "Is everything okay? Will, your pheromones are very strong."

Will stepped back immediately, mortified.

"Y-Yeah, I didn't even realize, sorry..."

Then came the day the letter arrived. Will opened the mailbox and froze.

The scent hit him instantly—clean linen and pine, edged with something deeper. Wood. Cold metal. Steady. Unyielding. Alpha.

Mike.

His mind immediately told him to hide the letter, to stuff somewhere safe where only he could find it and treasure it.

It took everything in Will not to steal the letter right there. His hands shook as he placed it carefully on Jane's bed instead, retreating to his room and locking the door behind him like it might keep the shame contained.

He slid down the wall and pressed his hands to his face, breathing through the ache.

He knew the others were awakening.

Lucas had been the first—his letter spoke of it plainly. The loss of Will and Jane so profound it had forced his body into alpha development. Then Max followed not long after, writing with quiet reassurance that if Will awakened as an omega too, she would always be there for him. Dustin's letters were rarer, but honest. He'd turned out to be a beta. "Kind of a bummer," he'd written, "but at least I don't have to deal with all that alpha-omega shit."

Will had laughed at that.

But in the back of his mind—quiet, persistent, aching—there was always one question he couldn't let go of.

What was Mike? And when—if—he awakened... would Will already be too far behind to matter?

Then came the news that Mike was finally coming to Indiana. He would be arriving in two weeks, and Will felt an abundance of emotions swell in his chest.

First came the excitement—sharp and breathless. Deep inside him, something leapt at the thought of seeing Mike again. Hearing his voice in person. Laughing like they used to. Sitting shoulder to shoulder like nothing had ever gone wrong.

Then came the fear.

He didn't want to face Mike. Didn't want to face what his heart did whenever Mike existed too close. Didn't want to endure holding himself together while standing beside his sister, watching her do the one thing Will wanted most.

Claim him.

The days flickered by in a blur of restless nights and half-finished thoughts. And then suddenly, they were at the airport.

Will had taken suppressants that morning—just in case. He told himself it was precaution, nothing more. He smiled anyway, clutching his painting to his chest like it might anchor him, eyes fixed on the gate.

Jane stood beside him, bouncing slightly on her heels, hands clasped tight with anticipation.

Then Will caught it, just a hint at first.

Clean linen. Pine. Cedar wood.

His breath stuttered.

The scent cut through the sterile air of the airport like it didn't belong there—warm, steady, unmistakable. His heart kicked hard against his ribs, instincts surging before he could stop them. His fingers tightened around the edge of the canvas as his body reacted all on its own, a quiet pull drawing him forward.

Mike.

Will swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still. He told himself it was just memory. Just familiarity. But his chest ached with a longing so sudden it made his eyes sting.

And then Mike stepped through the gate.

He looked taller. Broader. Older in a way that made Will's throat close. His button up hung open, his bag slung over one shoulder, and with every step he took closer, the scent grew stronger—linen and pine edged with something deeper now. Wood. Cold metal. Alpha.

Will's knees nearly buckled.

His body leaned forward before his mind could catch up, instincts screaming there you are, relief and ache tangling painfully together. This—this was what he had been missing. What his body had been searching for since the day Mike pulled away.

"Mike!" Jane said, breaking free first.

She rushed forward, throwing her arms around him without hesitation.

Mike hugged her back—but it was different.

Polite. Careful.

Will noticed immediately.

Mike's arms wrapped around Jane, but his body stayed tense. His head turned slightly away, breath shallow, eyes flicking over her shoulder like he was looking for something else.

For someone else.

Hope flared in Will's chest—small and dangerous.

Then Mike looked at him.

And the distance snapped into place.

"Hey," Mike said, untangling from Jane.

Just that. No smile breaking wide. No immediate step forward. His voice was familiar, but restrained—like he was holding himself back on purpose.

Will's heart sank.

“Hey," Will echoed softly, heat curling in his chest despite the suppressants. He waited—instinctively—for Mike to move closer. To bridge the space. To do what he used to do without thinking.

Mike didn't.

He shifted his bag instead. Took a step back. The scent didn't fade, but it felt... controlled. Contained. Like Mike was actively reining himself in.

Will's confusion settled heavy and cold in his stomach.

Had he done something wrong?

He tried to smile through it, tried to pretend the ache wasn't clawing its way up his throat. "I—um. I made something," he said, lifting the painting slightly, offering it like a peace gesture. Like proof he was still the same.

Mike's eyes flicked to it—and something sharp crossed his face. Guilt. Pain. Fear.

"That's... cool," Mike said after a beat. "Really cool."

But he didn't take it.

Jane filled the silence, slipping easily back into conversation, and Mike followed her lead, falling into step beside her as they headed out of the terminal.

Will trailed just behind them.

Close enough to breathe in Mike's scent.

Too far to touch.

His body ached with the effort of staying composed, instincts tugging him forward while his heart curled inward on itself. He didn't understand why Mike felt so far away when everything in Will screamed that this—he—was home.

Will struggled through the day.

He struggled through Jane's smiles, through her stories that didn't line up, through the way Mike nodded along, believing every word. Everything in Will screamed to tell him the truth—that Mike deserved honesty, that he needed to know. But loyalty to his sister wrapped tight around his ribs, stronger than instinct, stronger than fear.

So he stayed quiet.

And then everything went wrong.

Angela appeared like a storm, sharp and cruel, and before Will could even process it, Jane was on the ground—humiliated, shaking, fleeing with tears streaking down her face.

Mike froze.

Then his scent shifted.

It wasn't explosive—not yet—but it sharpened, pine and metal cutting through the air as his shoulders squared and his jaw clenched. Will felt it immediately, his omega instincts flaring under the suppressants, heart racing as Mike turned on him.

"You should've told me she was having trouble," Mike said, voice tight and bitter.

Will flinched. "I didn't know they were gonna be here, Mike," he said quickly. "I swear—I tried."

"Yeah, well, you knew she was having trouble for like a year," Mike snapped, pacing now, hands fisting at his sides. "And you didn't tell me."

"I didn't know she was lying to you." Mike stopped short, turning back on him. "Which is why you decided to be a douche to her all day?"

"I wasn't being a douche!" Will's voice cracked, the words coming out thinner than he wanted. Mike opened his mouth, anger surging—and then hesitated.

"You were," he insisted, but the force behind it faltered as his eyes caught on Will's face. Pale. Drawn. Hurt. "You were rolling your eyes, you were— you were moping, you barely even tried to enjoy the day—"

"Well she was lying to you, Mike!" Will burst out. "Straight to your face—ever since you got here! A-and..." He swallowed hard, shoulders caving in. "I've been a total third wheel all day. It's been miserable. So sorry if I wasn't—" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Wasn't smiling."

The words landed harder than Mike expected.

He looked like he wanted to argue. Like his instincts were still buzzing under his skin, demanding reaction. But Will's sad face hit him fully then, and something in Mike's chest twisted painfully.

"Yeah. Whatever, man," Mike muttered instead, turning away too abruptly. Will panicked and followed. "Well what about us?"

Mike spun back around. "What?"

"Are you mad that I didn't talk to you?" Will asked, voice shaking. "Because it really feels like you've made it super clear that you're not interested in anything I have to say."

"That's not true," Mike said immediately—and meant it.

"You called maybe a couple times," Will pressed, pain bleeding through every word. "It's been a year, Mike. Meanwhile El has, like... a whole book of letters from you."

Mike flinched. "That's because she's my girlfriend, Will."

"A-and us?" Will asked quietly.

"We're friends," Mike said, too fast. "We are friends!”

"Well we used to be best friends," Will said, voice breaking completely now.

Mike froze.

The anger drained out of him all at once, leaving only guilt and something dangerously close to panic. He took a step forward, then stopped himself—hands flexing like he didn't trust them.

"Well then maybe you should've reached out more," he said weakly. "I don't know. Why is this on me? Why am I the bad guy?"

Will looked away, shoulders slumping, pain rippling through him like something final settling into place.

Mike stared at him. Really stared. And whatever fight he'd had left evaporated.

"...Just—" he sighed, running a hand through his hair, scent softening despite himself. "Just find her. Okay?"

Will didn't answer.

He only nodded faintly as Mike turned away, the distance between them widening again—unwanted, unresolved, and aching in a way neither of them knew how to fix.

—

Will sat in the back of the van, forehead resting lightly against the cool glass as the road blurred past. His thoughts wouldn't slow no matter how hard he tried.

Jane kept surfacing first—his sister, probably terrified and confused, forced to run again without ever really understanding why the world kept hurting her. The image twisted painfully in his chest. And then, unhelpfully, his mind jumped to Mike.

To the strange, fluttering moment earlier—Mike asking, halting and unsure, if they were still best friends. If they could still be them.

The question had shaken Will more than he cared to admit.

His thoughts spiraled, jumping too fast for him to catch up, and he didn't realize how loud his emotions were becoming—how they were bleeding into the space around him.

Mike noticed first.

He'd been staring at the floor of the van, lost in his own thoughts, when something sweet drifted through the air. Faint. Warm. Familiar enough to make his chest tighten instantly.

Apply and honey.

His head lifted slowly, breath hitching as the scent grew stronger.

He knew it immediately.

It was the same scent that clung to the envelopes Jane used to send him—the one that had burrowed under his skin and refused to leave. The one that had woken something deep and instinctive inside him back in Hawkins.

The one he kept under his pillow at night.

Mike inhaled carefully, heart pounding, and followed it to its source.

Will. Of course it was Will.

He already knew Will was an omega. That part hadn't surprised him. What had unsettled him—what had stuck with him since the airport—was the absence. Back then, Will hadn't smelled like anything. Just detergent. Clean and neutral and wrong in a way Mike hadn't been able to name.

It had left his mind uneasy, pacing under his skin.

Now, sitting barely an arm's length away, Will smelled like apples and honey again—soft, aching, unguarded. Real.

Mike turned fully toward him. Will's arms were wrapped tightly around himself, shoulders tense, eyes unfocused as he stared out the window like he was somewhere else entirely.

"Will?" Mike said quietly.

The softness in his own voice surprised him.

Will blinked, pulled sharply back into the moment. "Hm?" He turned, and Mike's chest clenched at the worry etched into his face.

"Are you okay?" Mike asked, gentler still.

Will hesitated. Then he sighed, hugging himself tighter. "Physically? Yeah," he said. "I'm just... worried. Everything's so crazy."

Mike nodded immediately, understanding written all over his face. He shifted closer without thinking, his shoulder brushing Will's. "Yeah," he said. "I get that. But we'll figure it out. We always do."

The words were simple. Steady.

Will nodded, managing a small smile, but his thoughts were still buzzing. He turned back toward the window, breathing shallowly—

And then Mike's scent reached him. Clean linen. Pine. Cedarwood beneath it all—solid and grounding.

Will's breath stuttered.

The scent wrapped around him like a promise, sinking deep into his chest and easing something tight and painful all at once. His shoulders dropped. His grip on himself loosened. Every muscle in his body softened as warmth spread through him, safety settling into his bones.

Home.

He didn't even realize he'd leaned over until his temple brushed fabric. Will opened his eyes slowly, he was resting against Mike's shoulder. Mike hadn't moved away.

If anything, Mike angled himself just a little closer—close enough to shield, close enough to stay. Will shifted without realizing it, settling more comfortably against him, the warmth of Mike's presence wrapping around him like a blanket. A small, involuntary sound slipped from Will's throat as his body finally relaxed. Mike felt it immediately—a sharp, unexpected sense of satisfaction that made his chest tighten.

Will was calmer now. Pleased. Mike could tell by the way his scent softened, the sharp edge of distress melting away into something gentle and warm. Apples, ripe and sweet. Honey, fresh and comforting. The change sent a low, instinctive pulse through Mike, something deep in him stirring with pride at the simple realization: I'm helping. I'm making him feel better.

The feeling settled heavily in his chest, steady and insistent. He wanted to keep Will like this—safe, calm, unburdened. He wanted to push every sharp thing away, every source of stress, until nothing could reach him anymore. The urge wasn't loud or aggressive; it was quiet and absolute, a certainty that this was where Mike was meant to be.

He breathed in slowly, grounding himself in the sweetness of Will's scent, letting it anchor him the same way his own presence anchored Will. And unbidden, a small thought drifted through his mind—soft, instinctive, almost curious.

I wonder if he'd feel even better if he smelled like me.

The thought faded almost as quickly as it had come, but something shifted beside him.

Will squirmed slightly, shoulders tensing as if he'd suddenly grown nervous. Mike felt it immediately. His brows knit together, concern cutting through the haze of contentment, and before he could think better of it, he lifted a hand and rested it gently between Will's shoulder blades.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

Will shook his head, blinking as if he'd been pulled out of something deep. He straightened, and the sudden loss of contact made something in Mike protest. Before he could dwell on it, Will reached for the rolled-up scroll he'd been carrying with him all day—the one he never seemed to let out of his sight.

He hesitated, fingers tightening around the paper.

"Can I... can I show you something?" Will asked, voice careful, vulnerable.

Mike nodded immediately. "Of course."

Will unrolled the scroll with shaking hands and passed it over, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Mike could hear it. His scent shifted—nervous now, sweetened with something hopeful and fragile.

Mike took the painting carefully.

And then he froze.

His breath caught as his eyes traced the colors, the detail, the way the figures seemed almost alive on the page. Awe spread across his face, unguarded and honest. "W—Will," he breathed, looking up at him with wide eyes. "This is... this is awesome."

Will smiled, small and shy but real. "Yeah, um— I—this is you," he said, pointing to the figure holding a sword and shield. "Your D&D character."

Mike looked back down, noticing the heart emblazoned on the shield, and something warm bloomed in his chest.

"You have a heart because you're the heart of the group," Will said softly. "You lead us, Mike. We..." He faltered, then forced himself to finish. "We need you."

The words hit harder than Mike expected.

He stared at Will, stunned, pride and affection swelling until his chest felt too tight to contain it. "Thanks," he said quietly, meaning so much more than the word could hold. "That really means a lot."

Without thinking, he scooted closer. Their knees brushed. Their shoulders pressed together, fitting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Will nodded, cheeks warm, and after a moment he leaned back against Mike's shoulder again. They stayed like that—quiet, close, sharing warmth and breath and something unspoken but heavy between them.

——

It was as if Mike was synchronized with Will.

Any small shift in Will's breathing, any flicker of discomfort, and Mike was there—already turning, already asking if he was alright before Will could even find the words. It wasn't something Mike did on purpose. It was instinct. His body seemed tuned to Will's in a way that felt effortless and frightening all at once.

Since arriving back in Hawkins, Will had been constantly on edge. The town felt wrong. Too familiar. Too watchful. He carried the persistent sensation of being observed, as if something was crawling beneath his skin, wearing his shape, waiting for the right moment to surface.

His friends tried to help. They stayed close, reassured him, reminded him he wasn't alone.

But no one comforted him the way Mike did.

Mike, who wrapped him in his sweater without asking.

Mike, who let his scent soften and spread whenever he hugged Will.

Mike, who watched carefully to make sure Will ate, drank, rested—like those things mattered more than anything else.

Will sat curled on the dusty couch in the cabin, rubbing at the back of his neck as a quiet whimper slipped from his throat. His glands felt tender, slightly swollen from too many accidental scent leaks he couldn't control anymore. His blockers had worn off hours ago, and the stress of everything—the town, the memories, the fear—was catching up with him.

His body was paying the price.

He tried to soothe the ache himself, rubbing gently and carefully, avoiding the most sensitive spots. The constant awareness of One's presence pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating, and all he wanted—desperately—was to curl up somewhere safe. To build a nest. To hide until the world stopped hurting.

Tears gathered despite his efforts to hold them back.

As he cried softly to himself, footsteps thudded urgently across the creaking floorboards. Will dropped his hands from his neck immediately, wrapping his arms around himself instead, shoulders curling inward as if to protect what little stability he had left.

The footsteps came closer.

And then Mike was there.

His face was drawn tight with concern, breath uneven as if he'd run the entire way. He huffed softly as he knelt in front of Will, eyes scanning him quickly, urgently. Jane appeared just behind him, jogging to a stop, her brows furrowed in worry.

Will's chest ached at the sight of them together.

"Hey," Mike said, voice low and careful as he slid onto the couch beside Will. He shuffled closer instinctively until their knees touched. "What's wrong?"

Will shook his head and turned away, unable to meet his eyes. Mike frowned immediately.

"Will," Jane said gently, stepping closer. "Are you hurt?"

Will looked up at her and shook his head again. "It's nothing," he murmured. "You guys don't have to worry about me."

Jane didn't look convinced. She reached out anyway, offering her hand. Will took it gratefully, squeezing tight, grounding himself in the familiar comfort of her presence.

Mike didn't pull back.

Instead, he scooted even closer despite Will facing away, his shoulder brushing Will's arm as he placed a steady hand on Will's shoulder. His scent softened immediately—clean linen and pine warming into something deeper, calmer, wrapping around Will like a quiet promise.

Jane noticed.

She glanced at Mike, then back at Will, a small, understanding smile touching her lips. "Tell us," she said softly. "Friends don't lie."

Mike's thumb rubbed a slow, reassuring circle where his hand rested, not pushing, not demanding—just there.

And despite himself, despite the fear and the shame and the ache in his chest, Will felt his body begin to ease.

Will pressed his lips together before finally sighing. "It's— it's One," he admitted quietly. "I can feel him. He's hurting." His voice cracked, fear slipping through despite his effort to stay composed. "As soon as we got back to Hawkins, it started. It's like—" He faltered, a soft, broken sound leaving his throat. "It's like he's part of me again. I can remember what he thinks, what he feels and—"

His breath stuttered.

"And he won't stop," Will whispered. "Not until he's taken everything from us."

Mike moved without hesitation. One arm came around Will's shoulders, firm and grounding, while his other hand settled on Will's knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jane placed her hand over theirs, solid and reassuring, anchoring Will in the moment.

"He will not take everything," Jane said firmly, shaking her head. "We won't let him."

Mike nodded, his grip tightening just slightly. "We'll stop him," he said with quiet certainty. "Like we always have."

Will nodded, forcing a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Jane leaned down and wrapped him in a hug, holding him just long enough to make sure he felt it. Will hugged her back, sniffing softly as she pulled away and retreated to her room, the door closing behind her with a decisive click.

Mike stayed.

He didn't move away. If anything, he shifted closer, rubbing slow, soothing circles against Will's knee as they sat huddled together on the couch. His scent lingered around them—steady, familiar—but Will was past the point where scent alone could fix the ache twisting through his chest.

"You're still hurting," Mike said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Will glanced at him, guilt flaring. "Sorry for worrying you," he murmured. "You can go back to her if you—"

Mike shook his head immediately. "What? No." He looked genuinely startled by the suggestion. "You're in pain. I'm not leaving you."

Will stared at him, stunned. "B—but she needs you," he said weakly. "She's your girlfriend, and I'm just your friend—"

"We broke up."

The words landed softly—but heavily.

Will's eyes widened. "What?"

Mike nodded, meeting his gaze without flinching. "We're better off as friends," he said simply. "It was mutual."

There was no heartbreak in his voice. No regret. Just clarity.

Will nodded slowly, unsure what to do with the information. His thoughts scrambled uselessly—Should I comfort him? Say something supportive? Ask if he's okay? Nothing seemed right.

"Uh... I'm— sorry?" he offered hesitantly.

Mike huffed out a small laugh and smiled, shaking his head. "Don't be. We're not sad or anything."

Will nodded. "That's... good," he said softly.

Then the ache in his neck flared again.

Will winced, lifting a hand toward the sore, swollen skin before stopping himself. Touching his glands would only make things worse. He dropped his hand back to his lap, jaw tightening as he tried to breathe through it.

"Will..." Mike murmured, his tone shifting immediately.

Mike's eyes flicked back to Will's neck—faintly flushed, irritated, the skin sensitive from stress and uncontrolled scent release. Something in his expression softened, concern bleeding into something quieter and deeper, tugging at him before he could think better of it.

"How long has it been like that?" Mike asked softly.

Will frowned, lifting a shoulder in a small, helpless shrug. "A while," he admitted. "I don't really know anymore."

Mike's brows knit together. Without fully realizing it, he leaned closer, his body moving on instinct alone. "It looks painful," he murmured.

Will's breath stuttered.

He blinked slowly, suddenly hyperaware of how close Mike was—close enough that he could feel the warmth of him, close enough that the steady scent of pine and clean linen wrapped around his senses. Mike's face was only inches away now, eyes flicking up to meet Will's before drifting back to his neck.

"I... I could help," Mike offered quietly, like the idea had slipped out before he could second-guess it.

"How?" Will asked, voice barely above a breath.

"Scenting," Mike said simply.

He leaned forward a fraction more, and Will's body reacted immediately—back pressing into the couch cushions, heart hammering wildly. "W-wait," Will squeaked, cheeks burning.

Mike froze.

He pulled back just enough to really look at Will, confusion written plainly across his face. Will swallowed hard, fingers twisting in the fabric of his sleeves. "T-that's— scenting is for mates," he said, flustered and embarrassed.

Mike blinked. "So?" he said, earnest and unguarded. "We're best friends. That's... close enough, right?"

Will shook his head, breath uneven. Mike immediately leaned back, hands lifting in surrender, concern replacing everything else. "Hey—okay," he said quickly. "I know it's usually for mates. I just—" He hesitated, glancing back at Will's neck. "It's going to hurt more if it stays like that."

His voice softened. "Alphas have saliva that helps," he added gently. "It helps heal. And you're hurt."

Will stared at him, stunned. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Mike could hear it. He took a shaky breath, then another, before whispering, "Not here."

Mike's face brightened, like he'd been given permission to take care of something important, something he was desperate to accomplish.

His eyes flicked around the cabin once, then settled on the bathroom door.

Will followed his gaze, understanding dawning. He nodded.

Mike stood and offered his hand—not pulling, just waiting. Will took it, fingers curling together as Mike led him across the room. Every step made Will more aware of the closeness between them, of how steady Mike felt, how careful.

The bathroom was only a few steps away.

Will closed the door behind them, heart racing. Mike reached past him and gently turned the lock, the soft click echoing loudly in the small space.

They stood there for a moment—too close, too aware, breathing the same air.

Mike met Will's eyes, his voice low and careful. "I'll stop if you want me to," he said. "Anytime."

He took a slow step forward. Then another. "You're in control here, okay?" Mike murmured. "Whatever you say, goes."

Will's heart was racing so hard he could feel it against his ribs.

Mike closed the distance completely, and Will's back met the bathroom door with a soft thud. They stared at each other, eyes locked, something heavy and unspoken passing between them. Will swallowed, then tilted his head just enough to bare his neck—a silent permission.

Mike inhaled sharply.

His pupils were blown wide, breath unsteady as he lifted his hands and rested them carefully on Will's shoulders. Warm air brushed against Will's sensitive skin as Mike leaned in, hesitating just long enough to check his expression one last time.

He heard Mike swallow.

The sound was small, but Will caught it immediately, felt it echo through him as Mike's pupils blew wide and his breath turned uneven. Mike's hands came up carefully, resting on Will's shoulders like he was grounding himself as much as Will. Warm breath brushed against the sensitive skin of Will's neck, close enough to make his pulse jump.

"I'm—" Mike whispered, voice barely holding. "I'm gonna start."

Will nodded, barely breathing.

Mike leaned in slowly, giving Will time to pull away. He didn't. The first lap from his tongue was tentative—reverent—like Mike was afraid of doing it wrong. Will bit back a sound as relief surged through him instantly, sharp and overwhelming, his body reacting before his mind could catch up.

He squirmed despite himself.

The ache in his neck softened, warmth spreading outward in dizzying waves that made his knees feel weak. Mike tongue worked magic as its warmth lapped at the swollen gland. His breathing broke apart, shallow and uneven, and no matter how hard he tried to stay quiet, a sound slipped out anyway—small, helpless.

Mike stilled.

For just a second.

Then he adjusted, slower now, more deliberate, like he was listening to Will's body and rewarding him for any sound that came through. Will's head tipped back without him realizing it, fingers curling tight into the fabric of Mike's shirt like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"Mike..." Will murmured, the name slipping out like a plea.

Mike let out a low sound—something between a breath and a growl—and Will felt it resonate straight through him. His legs nearly gave out. Mike caught him immediately, arm firm around his waist, holding him steady without hesitation, without breaking contact, grounding him as the last of the ache faded into something warm and overwhelming. Will sagged against him, head spinning, body buzzing in a way he'd never felt before.

"I've got you," Mike murmured, rough and sure.

The relief deepened, settling into something heavy and consuming. Will's thoughts went hazy, his body responding instinctively, chasing the comfort even as his other gland began to ache, flared—an awareness that made him whine softly without knowing why.

Mike understood.

He shifted just enough, guiding Will's jaw carefully, never rushing, never taking more than Will gave him. Will gasped as his abandoned gland was swallowed by Mike's warm mouth, hands tightening, breath catching as his balance wavered again. Mike held him through it all, steady and unyielding, humming quietly like the sound belonged there.

Satisfied. Protective. Certain.

Will sagged against him, overwhelmed, warmth flooding every inch of him until he felt loose and boneless and utterly undone. Mike stayed close, breathing slow, anchoring him as the last of the tension drained away.

When Mike finally pulled back, both of them were breathing hard.

Will swayed, dizzy, overwhelmed by the lingering sensation of being scented by his best friend. He tried to straighten, but his legs didn't quite cooperate.

"Hey—" Mike started, stepping back to give him space.

Will followed without thinking.

They stumbled together, uncoordinated and breathless, the small bathroom suddenly far too cramped. Mike's knee hit the edge of the bathtub, and with a startled curse, he lost his balance.

"Shit—"

They went down in a tangle.

Mike landed awkwardly in the tub with a grunt, Will tumbling after him, bracing himself instinctively so he didn't crush him. The impact knocked the air out of both of them.

For a moment, neither moved.

Will laid on Mike's chest, breathing hard, eyes glossy and unfocused, like he hadn't quite found his way back to himself yet. Mike lay beneath him, stunned, the hard edge of the bathtub pressing into his back, one hand still steady at Will's waist like it belonged there.

It didn't even occur to him to move it.

"You okay?" Mike asked quietly, trying to ignore the sharp throb already blooming along his spine—he'd definitely feel that bruise later.

Will nodded, shifting like he meant to pull away, until something stiff brushed against Mike's thigh. Then he froze.

Mike looked down at him, and something unspoken passed between them. No words were needed. Will's breath hitched. His face flushed deeper, heat rushing up his neck as his eyes filled suddenly, helplessly, with tears.

Mike felt it like a punch to the chest.

Will swallowed, voice trembling. "I'm sorry..."

"No—no, hey," Mike said quickly, panic flaring as he shook his head. "Don't be. I promise, it's okay. You didn't do anything wrong—"

But Will was already crying.

Soft, broken sounds slipped past his lips as tears spilled down his cheeks, his shoulders curling inward like he was bracing for something to shatter. The sight of it sent Mike into full-blown panic. Every instinct in him screamed to fix this, to make it stop, to make him feel better—now.

"Will," Mike whispered urgently.

Without thinking, he reached up, cupping Will's face in both hands. His thumbs brushed away tears, warm and clumsy, grounding himself in the feel of Will's skin. Will sucked in a shaky breath, eyes wide, confused, still hurting.

Mike didn't stop to think.

He leaned up and pressed his lips to Will's.

It wasn't forceful. It wasn't rushed. It was soft and unsteady and full of feeling he didn't know how else to express—a wordless please don't cry, a promise wrapped in warmth and closeness.

Will stilled completely.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold its breath with them.

Then Will melted—just a little—hands tightening in Mike's shirt as the crying quieted into something fragile and stunned. Mike stayed there, lips lingering just long enough to make sure Will was still with him. Still safe.

When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.

Will stared, dazed, like he was still catching up to what had just happened. Mike swallowed.

"Me too."

Will blinked.

Mike said it again, softer this time. "Me too." He thrusted upward, a bulge hitting Will's hipbone.

Something clicked in Will's expression—surprise giving way to understanding, to relief so strong it almost hurt. He sucked in a shaky breath, eyes shining, and before Mike could say anything else, Will leaned up and kissed him again.

This time it was messy.

Their mouths met wrong at first—teeth bumping, breath hitching—but neither of them pulled away. Will kissed him like he'd been holding it in for too long, hands gripping tighter, like he needed proof Mike was real. Mike kissed back just as desperately, adjusting, chasing the feeling until they fell into a rough, uneven rhythm that felt right anyway.

Mike's smell mixed with Will's, the room filling with a swirl of honey and clean linen. It was intoxicating—heady and overwhelming in a way that made his chest feel too tight, his thoughts slipping loose.

With a trembling breath, Will shifted, pressing his bulge down against Mike with slow, deliberate motion. Their lips met again, the contact charged, and Mike responded with a low sound that vibrated between them.

Will moved with growing urgency, chasing that razor-edge sensation building in his core. Mike matched him, rising to meet each movement, their rhythm syncing—breath, touch, tension—as his mouth parted and their kiss deepened. Mike invaded every part of Will's mouth, earning a sweet high pitched whine from the omega.

Will's rhythm grew desperate, his breath stuttering with each motion as he chased the crest of something sharp and consuming. Mike's grip on his waist turned bruising, his fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor both of them to this moment. Their lips had parted, but the heat between them only grew, Will's face buried in Mike's shoulder, a shaky whine escaping him as heat coiled tightly in his gut, it sent shivers through Mike's spine.

Mike's eyes locked onto the curve of Will's neck, drawn like a flame to dry kindling. He dipped his head to Will's neck, lips brushing skin, breath warm and uneven. His teeth grazed lightly, restraint tugging at him by a thread, even as Will's pace quickened—his gasps slipping into Mike's shoulder, raw and helpless. The scent of Will—warm, familiar, maddening—wrapped around him like a drug. Every roll of Will's hips made his self-control splinter.

Mike's control frayed. His instincts roared at him to claim, to mark, to make this moment permanent.

Will let out a strangled cry, thighs tightening around Mike, his whole body tense and quaking. His fingers curled into Mike's skin as the tension in him snapped—sharp, blinding. He gasped, trembled, and then went slack with a soft, broken moan, shaking against Mike like the storm had finally passed.

That was all it took.

Mike bit down on his own lip, tasting copper, forcing himself to hold back. His hands gripped tighter as he followed after, losing himself in the wave crashing through him. A growl tore from his throat as he drove his hips up one last time, his vision going white at the edges. The heat that had been pooling inside him exploded outward, raw and overwhelming. He clung to Will as his body jolted, breath ragged, lips pressed to Will's shoulder—not biting, but so close.

Heavy breaths echoed off the tiled walls, the bathroom thick with the weight of what had just happened. Mike held Will close, arms wrapped around him like he was afraid to let go. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts, the haze slowly clearing from his mind—just enough to register the intoxicating sweetness of Will's scent still clinging to the air, to his skin, to everything.

One moment he was scenting him... the next, they were tangled up in each other, grinding breathless in a porcelain bathtub like the world had narrowed to nothing but heat and skin.

A dull ache crept into Mike's spine, reminding him they were still in that bathtub. He exhaled and patted Will's shoulder. "Will?"

Will stirred with a soft sound, lifting his head with a breathy hum.

Mike's eyes widened.

Will's gaze was glassy, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, his cheeks flushed a gorgeous, damning pink. He looked wrecked in the best way, and Mike had to look away before the urge to pull him back in overtook him entirely.

"Y-Yeah, uhm..." Will muttered, voice raspy. He shifted awkwardly, beginning to climb off of Mike.

Mike helped steady him, only for his eyes to flick down—and freeze. The front of Will's pants was soaked, slick glistening faintly beneath the fabric, a mix of heat and slick and satisfaction that made Mike's breath catch.

His fingers twitched. Every instinct in him begged—screamed—to pin Will back down and do everything he hadn't yet. His jaw clenched. He shook his head once, hard.

Will settled beside him, legs dangling over the edge of the tub, and Mike finally leaned back with a quiet groan of relief, letting the cold porcelain support him. The discomfort of his own soaked clothes pressed against him, and his mind buzzed with the question of how they were going to leave this room without giving everything away.

Then Will slumped gently against him, resting his head on Mike's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. One arm slipped through Mike's and hugged it close.

Mike instinctively shifted to make room, adjusting to let Will settle, his skin prickling everywhere they touched. He glanced at him, voice low. "You okay?"

Will looked up at him from under his lashes, green eyes soft and unreadable. "Mhm," he purred, curling closer, his nose brushing Mike's sleeve.

Mike's chest ached. His body buzzed. He swallowed thickly, unable to stop the low, involuntary sound in his throat as Will pressed in.

They sat in the bathtub, quiet now except for the slowing rhythm of their breath, the echo of the moment still hanging in the warm, humid air between them. Will leaned against Mike's side, soaking in his presence like it grounded him.

Then, softly, hesitantly:

"What does... this mean for us?"

Mike tilted his head and let it rest against Will's, his voice low and steady.

"Whatever you want it to mean."

Will tightened his hold around Mike's arm. "What if I want it to mean something you don't?" he asked, the question fragile, his scent shifting—spiking with unease.

Mike immediately pulled back to look at him, locking eyes with those wide, worried ones.

"Not possible," he said, grinning.

Will's face lit up, a smile breaking across his lips—

BANG BANG BANG.

Both boys jolted like they'd been electrocuted.

"Will, Mike! Come on!" Jane's voice rang through the door, sharp and impatient.

Will blinked, then called back, "Coming!" His voice cracked slightly.

They waited until her footsteps faded, then looked at each other. The tension cracked. Laughter exploded from both of them—loud, breathless, relieved.

Will stood first, wobbling slightly, and offered a hand to Mike. "C'mon, Mike."

Mike took it, struggling playfully as he stood. They turned to the mirror—and winced.

Will stared down at the wet patch on his jeans. "I look like I peed myself."

Mike smirked. "You totally do."

Will gave him a look, "You're lucky you wore black."

"I'm always thinking ahead," Mike said, arms crossed smugly.

Will sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Let's hope Hopper has spare clothes."

Mike nodded. "I'll go check. You stay here." He squeezed Will's shoulder, the ease of it making Will's heart flutter.

Will gave a small nod and watched him disappear out the door, the bathroom suddenly quieter without him.

As he stood alone, eyes drifting back to the mirror, he felt the weight of what had just changed between them. It had come out of nowhere—quick and chaotic—but it didn't feel wrong. It was certainly unexpected, but definitely not unwanted.

Will hugged Mike's sweater close, the fabric still warm, worn in, and soaked in his scent. He squealed softly to himself, the reality of it all sinking in like a dream come true.

But his moment was cut short as Mike walked back into the bathroom holding up two pairs of old jeans.

"These were the smallest I could find," he said, voice light.

Will snorted, taking the smaller pair. "Great, but... what about our underwear?"

Mike froze. "Shit."

Will sighed in disbelief. "Guess we're drying them off as best we can."

As they began undressing, the thick scent of Will's slick hit the air like a wave—ten times stronger now that the haze of earlier had cleared. Mike inhaled and choked, the scent flooding his lungs like something toxic and addictive. Against his will, his eyes flicked to Will just as the mess peeled away from his skin.

He nearly lost it.

"S-Sorry," Will muttered, mortified as he rushed to rinse out his underwear.

"Don't be," Mike croaked, jaw clenched.

Will squeezed out the fabric and patted it dry with a mystery towel. With nothing else to use, he awkwardly cleaned himself with a few too-old squares of toilet paper before slipping into the borrowed jeans. He perched on the toilet lid, hands in his lap, watching as Mike moved with focused determination, methodically wiping himself down, brows knit in concentration.

Will kept stealing glances. He couldn't believe this had just happened. Here they were—alone in a bathroom where, minutes ago, something wild and messy and electric had sparked between them.

His best friend. His crush. Mike.

It had happened so fast. But... was it just a one-time thing? Was Mike just being kind? Just trying to help?

He blurted it out before he could stop himself:

"Are we... boyfriends?"

Mike's head snapped up, surprised. Then, he smiled—soft, a little shy. "Is that what you want?"

Will blinked. "I— I mean, if that's okay with you?"

Mike shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world. "If that's what you want."

Will frowned. "But do you want it?"

Mike's eyes held his. "Do you?"

Will's voice wobbled. "I do," he said, then stronger, "I do. I want us to be... boyfriends."

Mike zipped up his jeans, buckled his belt, and glanced over at him. "Okay then," he said simply. Then with a smirk, "Whatever Will Byers wants, Will Byers gets."

He held out his hand.

Will beamed—until he grabbed their soaked pants and plopped them into Mike's outstretched hand.

Mike recoiled. "I was not reaching for that."

Will laughed, turning the sink on. "I'll follow you out, just let me rinse these first."

Mike lingered. "Let me help."

Together, they rinsed and wrung out the fabric, hanging their soaked clothes on the shower pole before quietly slipping out of the bathroom—only to freeze.

Everyone was waiting.

Jane grinned knowingly, Lucas stared. Dustin looked annoyed. Joyce raised an eyebrow.

"What took you guys so long?" Dustin asked, completely unaware of the heavy Mike-scent now clinging to Will like a second skin.

"We were just— uh—"

"I was— we were—"

"On the couch and—"

"Mites!" Will blurted out.

"Yes! Mites!" Mike echoed, voice way too loud. "Swarms. Of them."

Will nodded. "We had to change because... the mites, uh, ate our clothes."

Joyce stared at them with deadpan intensity. "Will, we're going to have a talk later."

Jane giggled behind her while Lucas exchanged a look with Dustin, who looked even more confused.

Will flushed. "C-Can we just talk about the plan now?" he muttered, sinking into his chair.

Mike sat beside him, close enough to touch, and for the first time that day, Will didn't mind if everyone noticed.

—

Will woke to shouting.

He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, immediately recognizing Holly's voice echoing up from the stairs. Clattering followed, then Jonathan's voice nearby:

"Shit, dude—we overslept."

Will bolted upright. "I thought you were setting the alarm?"

"I thought you were!"

They both groaned in unison before scrambling out of bed, half-dressed, tugging on shirts and hopping into pants as they raced to get ready.

Will dashed up the stairs, skidding to a stop at the bathroom door raising a fist to knock just as it swung open and nearly made him fall.

"Will!" Mike yelped, startled. He was fully dressed, hair damp, cheeks flushed. Will froze too, nearly crashing into him.

"Hey—kinda running late, so—" Will gestured toward the bathroom, trying to maneuver around him.

Mike stepped aside, lingering in the doorway. "Will, I just had the most humiliating interaction with your mom. Like, almost didn't survive it."

Will laughed, foam around his mouth as he brushed his teeth. "Tell me later."

He quickly spit, swished some mouthwash, then motioned at the door. "Now go. I gotta pee."

"What? Why?"

"Privacy, Mike."

Will shoved him out with a smirk and shut the door in his face.

"Oh, come on! It's not like I haven't seen you naked before!" Mike called through the door.

The lock clicked. "That's exactly why," Will called back.

Mike sighed and turned—only to walk face-first into Jonathan.

They both stopped.

"Morning," Mike muttered, eyes wide. "Bathroom's occupied—"

"Yeah. I know." Jonathan deadpanned.

Mike cleared his throat. "Right. I'll just... head downstairs."

He retreated quickly, facepalming the moment he hit the bottom step. Two Byers. Thirty minutes. Full embarrassment speedrun. What a way to break a record.

He made a beeline for the kitchen and went straight to piling food onto a plate—fruits, definitely, and some sausage, scrambled eggs, whatever veggies were left. He dropped it onto the table, then started on a second.

"Quit stealing all the food!" Nancy snapped from across the table.

"I'm not stealing," Mike snapped back. "It's for Will."

"Ohh, that's sweet of you, Mike," Joyce cooed from the stove.

"That's so nice, Michael," Karen chimed in at the same time.

Mike rolled his eyes and added more strawberries, resisting the urge to groan.

Just then, another wave of chaos barreled into the kitchen—Will and Jonathan, mid-argument.

"How is it my fault?! You said—"

"Because I never said that, you liar—"

"Boys!" Joyce cut in, already massaging her temples. "What now?"

Will slid into the chair beside Mike, breathless and annoyed—then paused, eyes landing on the plate already waiting for him. His expression softened.

He nudged Mike, whispering, "Thanks," before digging in.

Jonathan dropped into the seat beside Nancy, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "Will didn't set an alarm," he announced.

Will snorted. "Jonathan didn't set the alarm. He said he would."

Joyce didn't even look up. "It doesn't matter who did or didn't set what—you're both late."

Will muttered under his breath, "Because of Jonathan. It's always because of Jonathan."

Jonathan scoffed. "It is not always because of me—!"

Meanwhile, Mike and Nancy had started bickering across the table.

"Mike, you don't need coffee."

"I do! I totally do!"

Arguments overlapped, sarcasm flew like stray bullets, chairs scraped, utensils clattered. No one listened. Everyone talked. It was barely 9 a.m., and the house already pulsed with the kind of morning tension that felt less like a routine and more like a battlefield.

At the edge of it all, Ted Wheeler sat in exhausted silence, clutching his coffee mug like it was the last stable thing in his life. His gaze drifted, unfocused, past his bickering children, past the clamor, landing somewhere in the middle distance where peace used to live. But peace had packed its bags the moment the Byers moved in.

And Ted? Ted hadn't known a moment's rest since.

Now both of his kids were in relationships under his roof—loud, emotional, pheromone-saturated relationships. Not just relationships, but inter-pack relationships. His omega daughter, Nancy, had brought home another omega. That alone had been enough to send his traditional instincts into a quiet, spiraling panic.

But then came Mike.

His alpha son.

Who, in some cosmic joke he still hadn't recovered from, was now dating an omega boy. A boy who currently reeked of his son's scent like he'd rolled in it overnight.

Ted stared into his coffee, dead-eyed. He had no safe corners left in this house.

No one noticed the slow unraveling of Ted Wheeler's mental state as everyone finished up their breakfast and began to file out in a chaotic single-file line, like a parade of hormones and teenage disaster. The Wheelers were first out the door, Nancy shouting back something about carpooling. Will trailed behind, catching the tail-end of Jonathan's sharp bark:

"Move it, Will!"

"I’m going!" Will hissed back, clutching his backpack tighter as he jogged to catch up.

He broke off from the group just before they reached the driveway, cutting through the side yard and heading toward the garage. The scent hit him before the sight did—pinewood and cold wind, sharp but familiar. Mike.

Mike was already there, leaned lazily against the side of his bike, one foot tapping against the concrete, jaw clenched with impatience. His bag was slung across his back, and the early morning light caught in the messy edges of his hair.

"C'mon," he muttered, adjusting his grip on the handlebars.

Will let out a breath, and climbed onto his own bike without protest. As Mike kicked off and started pedaling, Will matched his pace easily as they rode side-by-side down the street.

The sunlight filtered through the trees in golden shards, dappling the sidewalk and the boys' faces. A breeze rushed by, and Will inhaled deeply—crisp air and faintly cut grass mixed with the lingering scent clinging to his sweater. Mike's scent. It wrapped around him, warm and grounding. A subtle claim. A quiet comfort.

Behind them, Holly's voice rang out like a warning bell, "Wait up! Wait up!"

Will looked over his shoulder. "Do we stop?"

"Nope," Mike muttered. "We're already late."

Holly's small frame darted forward, pigtails swinging as she pedaled furiously. "Mike!" she shouted. "The Morning Squawk! We're gonna miss it!"

With an exasperated sigh, Mike reached for the radio clipped to his bike's handlebar and pressed a button. Robin's voice filtered through—tinny, sarcastic, and unmistakably already mid-rant. After a while of biking, Holly grinned and peeled off toward the elementary school, satisfied.

They reached Hawkins High just as the warning bell rang. Both boys skidded to a stop in front of the bike racks. Mike dropped to one knee, quickly locking the bikes while Will stood nearby, adjusting his backpack. Once Mike as done, they moved into the building shoulder-to-shoulder, slipping through the main doors together.

And like clockwork, eyes followed them.

It wasn't exactly new. The whispers had started months ago—quiet at first, then louder. They never really acted like a couple. No hand-holding. No hallway PDA. But Will wore Mike's clothes more often than not, and that was enough.

More than enough.

Because it wasn't just a hoodie here or a borrowed jacket. It was scent. It was saturation. Will carried Mike's scent like a second skin, and anyone who knew the first thing about Alpha Omega dynamics could tell what that meant. You didn't smell like someone for seven months without it meaning something.

They were dating. Mated? Not officially. But it was close.

Will didn't mind the stares. Not really. He was too used to them by now. What he did mind was the static tension suddenly bleeding into the air around them. He sniffed. Dominance. Challenge. Threat.

Mike noticed it too.

He turned his head toward the west hall—and there it was. Dustin's voice, raised and tight with frustration. Lucas's too, low and firm.

Mike's pace quickened. Will followed.

By the time they reached the hallway, the scent was thick—testosterone and ego, Alpha pheromones clouding the air like storm clouds. Dustin stood pressed against a locker, cheeks red, eyes narrowed. In front of him, Andy and Chance, broad-shouldered and sneering. Lucas stood between them, muscles coiled like he was one second away from snapping.

"I'll kick them so hard they pop like water balloons," Lucas was saying, tone sharp.

"I say kick away," Mike cut in smoothly as he approached, voice calm but full of command. The weight of his Alpha presence dropped into the hall like a boulder. "Stop his meathead from reproducing."

Andy turned first, posture tense. His eyes met Mike's, and something in his expression shifted—from cocky to cautious.

Chance's gaze, though, did something different. It lingered.

Not on Mike. On Will.

Will felt it immediately—that slow, measured drag of eyes across his face, then down his body, assessing. Sizing up. Like prey. Like a fresh meal. Something unreadable flickered behind the other Alpha's expression—curiosity, interest, challenge.

Will's jaw tensed. His scent flared, sharper now. Warning.

"Hope you brought a change of shirt, Henderson. No one wants to see that shit," Andy growled, giving Dustin a final shove before brushing past Lucas.

Lucas growled low in his throat, bristling, but Andy ignored it. Chance followed, but not without staring stronger to Will than necessary. His gaze slid sideways, locking with Will's for a heartbeat too long.

Chance gave a half-smirk, then walked on. Will didn't move until Mike's hand brushed against his, a quiet check-in that didn't need words. He nodded, until a slam of Dustin's locker being shut made him jump.

Dustin stormed ahead, his sneakers hitting the pavement harder than necessary, anger clinging to his shoulders like a second backpack. The others followed behind in tense silence, the air still thick with the weight of the confrontation they'd just walked away from.

"You've gotta stop provoking them, man," Lucas said, falling into step beside him.

Dustin rounded on him. "Oh, so this is my fault? For what, wearing a t-shirt?"

Lucas huffed, shoulders tense. "You know it's more than just a t-shirt."

"Well, I can't just be like you guys and turn the other cheek while they spread their bullshit about Hellfire—about Eddie."

His voice cracked just a little on the name, enough for Mike to finally cut in, his tone sharp and edged with the exhaustion of too many repeated arguments.

"Eddie never gave a rat's ass about what those mouth breathers were saying about him, and you know it," he said, clearly irritated. "You know what he would care about is finding and killing Vecna."

Dustin stopped in his tracks, spinning to face Mike, eyes narrowed. "Do you seriously think I don't care about that, Mike? Really?"

Mike let out a dry huff, rubbing a hand down his face. "I think you're fighting two battles when you need to be fighting one—"

"Mike's right, Dustin. What if you get hurt—like seriously hurt?" Will interjected, his voice quieter, but full of concern that made Dustin falter, if only for a moment.

"You're drawing attention," Lucas added, his arms crossed now, trying to stay calm. "Remember what Hop said. We need to keep our heads down."

"Follow the rules. Blend in," Will offered, nodding slightly.

"Stay focused on our next crawl—" Mike began.

"Do you even hear yourselves right now? Blend in? Follow the rules?" Dustin's voice rose, strained with disbelief and frustration. "That's not what we've ever done—"

"Jesus Christ," Mike muttered under his breath, clearly reaching the end of his rope.

"We stay true to ourselves. We're supposed to stay true to our friends," Dustin spat, eyes flashing. "We stand up for what's right, no matter the cost."

Lucas shook his head slowly, mouth a hard line. "You're not listening to us."

"No," Dustin snapped, stepping back, "you're not."

He turned and started walking off again, faster this time. Will took a quick step forward, his voice soft but urgent. "Dustin," he pleaded, reaching a hand out slightly.

Lucas just shook his head again, frustrated. "Unbelievable."

Mike's arm came out instinctively, stopping Will with a gentle press to his chest. "Let him go."

Will hesitated, his brows drawn together in a tight furrow, worry carved into the small lines of his face. He didn't speak—just stared down the hallway where Dustin had vanished, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing faintly until they were swallowed by distance and silence.

A quiet, almost imperceptible whine slipped from Will's throat—an involuntary sound of loss and helplessness at watching one of his closest friends walk away angry. The bond between them tugged tight, raw and fraying.

Mike's hand found his shoulder, grounding him. He didn't say anything at first, just squeezed—steady, firm, familiar.

"C'mon," Mike said gently. "He'll be fine. We need to get to class."

Lucas turned back, nodding with a faint roll of his eyes and a tired sort of calm. "Yeah. Let's not get into any more trouble today," he added flatly, patting Will's shoulder as he passed by.

Will felt Mike's hand tighten just slightly on his shoulder. It was enough to draw him out of the fog. He nodded.

Shoulders hunched a little, Will followed behind Lucas, Mike falling into step beside him without a word, their movements quiet and synchronized like muscle memory.

They reached their classroom with a few seconds to spare, slipping through the door and into their usual seats. It was shaping up to be another long day—another blur of lectures, busywork, and half-heard instructions that never quite registered.

The rest of the school day passed in a haze. Will moved through it, but didn't really feel present. There was a constant fluttering unease in his chest, something that never quite settled. Worry clung to him like static, and even when he wasn't thinking about Dustin directly, the sensation of something being off gnawed at the edges of his focus.

The only thing that kept him grounded was Mike.

Mike's presence beside him was a silent balm, a tether. He didn't even have to speak—he just was, and that was enough. It had always been like that. Even in middle school, even in the worst of times, Will had always felt safer with Mike nearby. Steadier. More himself.

Every class, Will would find moments to rest his chin against the sleeve of his sweater—Mike's sweater. It was too big on him, worn thin at the edges, but it held Mike's scent like it had been dipped in him. Comforting and sharp, warm and wild. Alpha.

It brought a swirl of memories to the surface—good ones, bad ones, complicated in-between ones. Nights talking under the covers. Fights that ended in silence. Glances that lingered too long. A kiss in a bathroom that changed everything.

Will's love for Mike had always been quiet—but never, ever small. It wasn't the kind of love that demanded attention, or needed to shout to be heard. It was constant. Steady. A deep current running beneath everything he was, beneath everything they were. And after an accidental moment—walking into a hospital room and catching Robin and Vickie mid-kiss—that something inside Will shifted. He saw the way Vickie leaned into Robin like she belonged there. Saw the faded mark of a claim bite on her neck, barely hidden under her collar. It struck something in him like lightning.

He realized, in that moment, that he was ready. Had been ready. To be Mike's mate. His bond. His forever.

He didn't talk about it. Not ever.

Not because he didn't want to, but because he was afraid.

Afraid that if he said too much, if he asked for something too real, too permanent, it might be too much for Mike. That the weight of forever would send him running. So Will kept it locked away. Buried in glances, in every unspoken word he swallowed down.

But gods, he loved him.

Fully. Completely.

Not halfway, not in pieces—all of him.

But Mike had never said that he was interested in bonding—not clearly. Not in the sunlight, not when he was fully awake.

Only in moments softened by sleep, when walls were down and thoughts came loose from dreams.

In those fragile hours, curled up behind Will with his breath warm against the back of his neck, Mike would murmur things. Half-formed, hushed confessions that Will held onto like fragile jewels. Words like "mine" and "always you" and "love you."

Will never brought it up in the morning.

He never asked what Mike meant—not out loud. He just kept it close. Quiet. Hoping. Believing, somewhere deep in his chest, that maybe—just maybe—Mike meant it in the same way Will did.

The loud, shrill ring of the bell snapped Will out of his thoughts like a whip. The chatter of chairs scraping and students rising filled the classroom as he blinked down at his barely-touched notes. He stood slowly, slinging his bag over one shoulder, moving on autopilot as he stepped into the hall.

He didn't go far—just stood off to the side of the door, letting the wave of students pour past him. Then, from the crowd, Mike emerged, backpack bouncing, face brightening the moment he saw him.

"I gotta go to the bathroom," Mike said, walking up with a crooked smile, already pulling his radio from his belt. He handed it to Will without hesitation.

"Wait for me at the lunch table," he added, voice light as he bumped into Will's shoulder with playful ease. That dorky grin of his still lingered even as he turned and disappeared into the restroom.

Will shook his head, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. Mike. Always like that.

He turned and headed toward the cafeteria, steps unhurried. The halls buzzed with overlapping voices and the mixed storm of scents—adrenaline, body spray, hormones, cafeteria grease, and sugar. It all blended together into a kind of static, but Will had learned to block most of it out.

He made it through the lunch line, grabbed a tray of vaguely warm food, and wound his way toward their usual table. To his surprise, it was empty—no Lucas, no Dustin, no El, and Mike was still in the bathroom. For now, he had the space to himself.

He set down his tray, pulled off his bag, and sat. The seat was cold against his legs. He picked up his fork and took a bite without thinking, chewing slowly as he scanned the cafeteria with vague interest. Everyone else was loud, moving around like schools of fish in all directions. The air was full of scent trails, casual touches, posturing, alphas throwing their weight around, omegas grouping up or keeping their heads down.

He took a sip from his juice box and looked to the side—only to freeze.

There was a rustle beside him. He expected Mike, maybe Lucas, someone familiar. But even before he turned his head fully, he could feel it. The wrongness. The scent.

Sandalwood. Sharp. Overwhelming. Tainted with something wild and deliberate.

It wasn't Mike.

Will turned.

Chance.

Sitting two seats away, angled toward him. Not too close—but close enough.

Will immediately stiffened, his body instinctively pulling back even before his mind caught up. He stared, frown forming deep between his brows.

Chance had a look on his face. Curious. Relaxed. Not hostile, not friendly—something in-between and just as dangerous. Calculated.

"Will, right?" he asked.

Will's frown deepened. He shifted in his seat, shoulders hunching inward. "Yeah. What do you want?"

Chance rubbed the back of his neck, doing his best to look casual. "I've just been seeing you around, y'know? You seem cool. So I just wanted to know if maybe you'd wanna hang out?"

His voice was smooth. Too smooth.

A wave of scent pulsed off him, subtle but undeniable—a push. Will inhaled it by accident and instantly regretted it. Sandalwood and something feral. Like wet fur and too-hot leather. It coated the back of his throat.

He scrunched his nose, face twisting with immediate, instinctive disgust. It was a calculated move—Chance was testing him. Trying to provoke a reaction. See if Will would flinch. Submit.

Will didn't.

He stared him straight in the eye. "No," he said flatly. "Just—no."

Chance blinked. His brows knit slightly, like he couldn't quite comprehend the word. Like it didn't compute.

Maybe he was used to his scent doing all the work. Used to omegas leaning in, not recoiling. Used to power tipping his way with no resistance.

Unfortunately for him, Will Byers was taken. And loyal. And basically immune to that crap.

"It doesn't have to be anything crazy," Chance continued, clearly unfazed—or pretending to be. "We can just go get some food, watch a movie. It'll be way better than whatever your nerd friends have you doing."

He leaned forward just slightly, his tone shifting, lowering—not seductive, but insistent. Alpha-deep. "You can't say no to that, can you?" he murmured.

Will shuddered.

There was something wrong about the way he said it. The undertone. The dominance laced behind every syllable. The subtle pull in his voice meant to prod Will's instincts into submission.

It made Will's skin crawl.

He reached up and tugged the sleeve of Mike's sweater over his hand, pressing the fabric to his nose instinctively. But it was no use—Mike's comforting scent was too faint, buried under hours of school, and Chance's scent was fresh, aggressive, and suffocating. It filled the space like smoke.

Will's stomach churned.

"Go away," he said, voice tight, nearly a hiss. His jaw clenched as he turned away sharply, eyes flicking to the cafeteria doors, wishing Mike would walk through them right now.

His other hand clenched into a fist beneath the table. Nails digging into his palm. The nausea came in waves—scent-induced vertigo rolling through his chest like motion sickness.

Chance just sat there, watching.

And Will waited, heartbeat thudding louder in his ears, resisting the pull of panic and fighting the primal urge to get the hell out.

Chance frowned, visibly thrown off by Will's reaction. "Hey, I'm being genuine, okay? I've never been interested in a male omega before. You're special—"

Will's glare hardened, his lips curling slightly as a low snarl left him. "Just leave."

The effect was immediate. Chance blinked, clearly not expecting real resistance, let alone teeth. His expression faltered, and for a moment he looked like he wanted to say something else—maybe try again, maybe double down. His hand lifted, reaching halfway across the table toward Will.

Will flinched back instinctively, his eyes widening. He leaned away, body tense, the sharp edge of his discomfort evident—and then, another hand clamped around Chance's wrist.

"Hey," a low voice growled. "He said leave, you freak."

Will's head snapped up, heart hammering—Lucas.

Chance recoiled, yanking his arm away with a sharp glare. The dominance between them spiked for a flash, but Lucas didn't back down. His posture was loose but firm, his eyes locked onto Chance with razor-edged calm.

Chance looked at Will again, expression unreadable now. "Think about it," he said quietly.

And then he turned and stalked off, disappearing back into the crowd.

Will squeezed his eyes shut. The heavy, poisonous stench of sandalwood was still thick in the air, coating the back of his throat and turning his stomach. He felt dizzy. Contaminated.

Lucas slid into the seat beside him, face twisted in disgust.

"Will?" he asked, voice laced with offense. "That bastard—he totally released his nasty scent, didn't he?"

Will gave a weak nod, still trying to breathe evenly. Lucas immediately released his own scent—a refreshing, sharp citrus softened by warm amber. It spread slowly, pushing back the cloying reek left behind by Chance.

Will let out a shaky breath and felt his body start to relax, shoulders losing their stiffness as the nausea faded. Lucas rubbed his back in small circles, concern evident on his face as he watched his friend recover.

"He'll pay for that," Lucas muttered. "He's so gross, seriously."

Will inhaled deeply through his nose this time, letting the clean scent settle in his lungs like medicine. The headache behind his eyes dulled. He slumped slightly, resting his weight into the bench, and turned to Lucas with a soft smile.

"Thanks, Lucas. I'm okay now."

Lucas had always been a protective alpha. Not like Mike—who was reactive and defensive, ready to burn the world after someone got hurt. Lucas was a caretaker. He watched. Anticipated. Looked out for the group like they were his pack. He rarely fussed unless it mattered—and when he did, it meant something.

Lucas nodded, giving a small smile of his own as he pulled his hand back and settled beside Will.

"Just tell me if that pervert gets close to you again," he said firmly. "He's seriously messing with the wrong guy."

Will nodded and took another sip of his juice, though the nausea hadn't fully disappeared. The cold sweetness helped a little, but his appetite was still gone.

"Where's Mike, anyway?" Lucas asked, frowning. "He should be here with you."

Will raised a brow, smirking a little. "You think I can't take care of myself?"

Lucas huffed. "You know what I mean."

Will laughed under his breath. "He's in the bathroom. He'll be here soon—"

And, like clockwork, Mike appeared.

He came marching down the cafeteria walkway, tray in hand, expression unreadable but serious—jaw clenched, brows furrowed, eyes scanning until they locked on Will.

Mike dropped his tray onto the table with a loud clatter and didn't even glance at the food. He walked around the table and stopped in front of Will, who looked up in surprise as the taller boy sat beside him—close. Practically pressed against him. He breached Will's personal space like it didn't exist.

Then, without hesitation, Mike leaned in and sniffed him.

Will flushed a deep pink, glancing around, a bit embarrassed by the openness of the action—but he didn't pull away. He welcomed Mike's presence. Needed it, if he was being honest.

"Why do you smell like that?" Mike asked, his voice low, tight, a little bit angry.

Will opened his mouth to answer, but Mike was already tugging at the hem of his sweater.

"Mike—wha—"

"Take it off," Mike grumbled, nostrils flaring. "It reeks."

"I—okay, okay!" Will said, pulling the sweater over his head in a rush, blinking as Mike snatched it from his hands.

Mike turned without another word, crossed the cafeteria, and threw the sweater straight into the trash.

"Mike!" Will yelped, scandalized.

"Woah," Lucas said beside him, clearly amused.

Mike returned a second later, dropped into the seat beside Will again, and pulled off his own sweater. Without waiting for permission, he began tugging it down over Will's shoulders.

"Mike—seriously—"

Will yanked it on himself, adjusting it over his shoulders with a sigh. It was warm, smelled powerfully of Mike, and was admittedly much nicer than the one he'd just lost. He placed a hand on Mike's forearm, fingers brushing against hot skin.

"Won't you get cold?" he asked, voice low, worried.

Mike shrugged, eyes flicking to Will's. "It's not that cold. Besides, I was getting hot anyway."

He didn't move his arm away. In fact, he leaned in closer, his thigh now brushing against Will's beneath the table.

Then, slowly, he turned toward him, eyes dark and searching. "Now tell me," he said, his voice quieter—lower, almost a growl. "Why did you smell like Lucas and some other alpha?"

Will swallowed. The edge in Mike's tone wasn't anger exactly—more like protective frustration. His concern was so sharp, so visible, it made Will's heart squeeze. He hesitated, then shook his head gently.

"I-It was nothing—"

Mike frowned, his expression tightening as he tilted his head, clearly not buying it.

Will sighed. "It was just Chance. He was being weird. But Lucas scared him off."

Mike blinked, then surged forward like someone had just pulled a fire alarm in his brain. "Chance?!" he said, incredulous. "What the hell could Chance possibly want with you?! Did he touch you?! Did he hurt you?!"

Without warning, his hands were on Will—patting, checking, scanning for anything that might be wrong. Will squirmed, letting out a breathy laugh.

"No, he didn't! He just—wait, that tickles!" he squealed through cackling, twisting away as Mike's hands found his sides.

Mike huffed in frustration and stood up, circling around the table to sit in front of him. Lucas followed behind, plopping down beside him, tray in hand and full amusement on his face as he began picking at his food.

Mike leaned forward again, still locked in. "Weird how? What was he doing?"

Will shrugged, poking at a piece of bread on his tray. "I dunno, he asked to hang out, but he kept spreading his gross scent everywhere."

Mike's eyes went wide. "He was trying to hit on you?!"

Will gave a sheepish nod. "I—yeah?"

Mike let out a low growl, eyes narrowing. "Fucking weirdo. I'm scenting you the moment we get home—"

"Okaaayyy," Lucas cut in, raising his hands in mock alarm. Will's face burned with embarrassment.

"Let's talk about something else now," he offered, his voice casual but pointed.

Mike grumbled, clearly still fuming, but didn't push back. He crossed his arms, then reluctantly started eating, stabbing at his food like it had personally offended him.

Lucas cracked open a Coke, the can hissing. "Dustin," he began, tone turning dry. "I'm telling you, the guy's lost his mind."

Will looked up with interest. "What now?"

"He actually told me he wanted to start Hellfire again," Lucas said, as if the words themselves were cursed. He took a sip of his drink and shook his head.

Mike frowned instantly. "Wait, when did he say that?"

"This weekend," Lucas said, raising a brow. "He started going off about 'finding the lost sheep.'" He even used air quotes, mocking Dustin's dramatic tone.

Will groaned, leaning his elbow on the table. "We thought the shirt was bad..."

"I'm telling you," Lucas said again, more firmly this time. "He's lost his damn mind—"

A tray slammed down on the table, loud and sudden.

All three heads whipped around.

Dustin stood there, unbothered and defiant, his ripped shirt still hanging off him like some kind of badge of honor.

"Who's lost his damn mind?" he asked coolly, eyes narrowing.

They all looked at each other, the silence stretching just long enough to feel uncomfortable. Will stumbled over his words, eyes flicking toward Dustin.

"Uhm... the—"

"Andy!" Mike suddenly blurted.

"Andy," Will repeated quickly.

"Andy lost his mind," Mike said, trying to sound casual, like it had always been obvious.

"Yeah."

"Yeah," Lucas and Will chimed in together, nodding with forced agreement. "Like when he came at you this morning."

"Yeah, that was—that was...”

"Messed up," Will added.

"Yeah," Lucas finished flatly. "It's rude."

Another awkward silence settled over the table. Will kept his eyes low, guilt pressing into his chest. He was never that good at hiding how he felt, especially not around Dustin.

Before anyone could say more, Robin's voice buzzed through the static of the radio, speaking in their coded language. She listed coordinates, clearly delivering the location of their next crawl.

"Holy shit—"

"Already?"

"Paper, paper! Give me paper!" Mike shouted, waving his hand impatiently. He looked at Will like he expected him to have answers.

Will scrambled to open his bag, Lucas urging him to hurry as he fumbled through notebooks. He finally yanked one free and handed it to Mike, who immediately spread the notebook out and scribbled as he listened to Robin's message.

Will ran around the table and leaned over him, watching intently as Mike copied down the string of numbers and phrases.

Once they had what they needed, the four of them shot up from their seats, ditching their trays and rushing out of the cafeteria. They didn't stop until they were deep in the woods, the scent of moss and damp bark wrapping around them like a blanket

They reached the weathered wooden table they always used. Mike immediately got to work, dumping out supplies and unrolling their annotated maps. He placed their D&D figures down and drew a breath.

"Lucas," he said firmly, "we'll take our usual observation post."

Lucas nodded, all seriousness now.

As they reviewed the plan in tight formation, Dustin finally spoke up, frowning. "Zone G1 probably won't have anything," he muttered. "I mean, come on. It's a couple houses, a Circuit City, and a Big Buy. What are the chances Vecna's shopping for Lucky Charms?"

Mike looked up sharply. "It doesn't matter," he said, already frustrated. "We stick to the plan. We break into the Upside Down the only way we can—through the MAC-Z gate, under the cover of a burn. Once we're inside, we search one zone at a time. Carefully. Methodically. Until we find wherever the hell he's been hiding."

His voice grew louder, stronger, the leader coming out of him fully now.

"We don't stop looking, even if it takes a hundred more crawls. A thousand. We don't stop until we're goddamned sure that wrinkled, noseless, rotting bastard is dead and gone—and never coming back."

No one spoke. They didn't need to. They just nodded, quiet but full of fire.

Mike reached out, his hand hovering over the center of the table. "Everyone in?"

Lucas slapped his hand on top of Mike's without hesitation. Will followed next, placing his hand gently over Lucas's, Mike's eyes locking on him for just a moment longer than the others.

Then all eyes turned to Dustin.

He stood still for a second, then stepped forward, placing his hand over Will's. His voice was low, but fierce.

"I want to see Vecna's heart on a platter," he said. "Just wish I could do it myself."

"For Eddie."

The air shifted. Every voice followed in soft, steady rhythm.

"For Eddie."

Lucas nodded, jaw tight with focus. "On three. 'Kill Vecna.' One, two, three—"

"Kill Vecna!" they shouted in unison, the woods echoing their cry.

Lucas whooped afterward, laughing as he suddenly jumped up onto the table and launched himself toward Mike and Dustin. Mike caught him with ease, staggering just slightly as Lucas clung to both of them, all of them laughing now.

The laughter faded.

Will blinked, his vision hazy, as the light around him seemed to warp—too bright, then too dim. His friends were still joking around, Lucas hooting, Dustin groaning dramatically as he shook a die between his hands. But Will felt like he was somewhere else entirely. Like he had slipped just slightly out of reality.

That feeling again.

The one that clung to his bones like wet fabric. Heavy. Cold. Wrong.

His chest tightened. His body tilted forward before he even realized it, like some invisible thread was pulling him—drawing him toward the edge of the clearing. He turned slowly, the world moving sluggish around him. Behind him, laughter echoed, blurred, like it was coming from underwater.

He stared into the woods.

Then—he heard it.

Children.

Distant, tinny voices laughing. Whispering. Singing.

His heart dropped into his stomach. The sound grew louder, layered over the sharp ringing in his ears. It sounded like a playground—but broken. Echoed wrong. Timelines overlapped, distorted.

He looked up.

The sky spun. Once, then faster. The sun twisted in place. The trees wavered like heat ripples.

The ground lurched. A wave of nausea hit him like a punch. He gasped sharply and stumbled, his shoulder slamming into a tree. Bark scraped his sweater as he barely caught himself from collapsing.

The noise must've drawn attention, because the next thing he heard was—

"Will!"

Lucas's voice. Then Mike's.

Lucas vaulted over the table, but Mike reached him first, his arms sliding around Will's waist and shoulders, catching him before he could fall again.

"Hey—hey, what's wrong? Are you okay?" Mike's voice was frantic, his scent already flooding the air. Sharp pine and smoke. Steadying.

Lucas arrived at his side, helping hold him upright. Will gripped at the tree behind him, chest heaving.

"I'm okay," Will panted. "It's okay—I'm fine."

But his eyes were wide. He wasn't fine.

Mike pressed closer. "Was it him? Was it Vecna?"

"I don't know," Will gasped. "I just—I had this crazy feeling, and then the sky was spinning, and—"

His voice cracked. His body trembled.

Will's scent spilled out involuntarily: bitter apple and decaying honey. A fear scent. Primal. Sharp.

"I don't know. Maybe it's nothing, right?" he said, trying to brush it off, but it came out broken. He slumped back fully against the tree, body sagging. Dustin was there too now, his hand gentle on Will's shoulder.

"I don't know," Will repeated, softer. "Maybe I just get nervous sometimes before crawls?"

"Yeah—I get nervous too," Lucas said quickly, voice pitched up with concern. "But the sky doesn't spin for me."

Mike gave him a sharp look.

Lucas blinked. "It ever spin for you?"

Mike didn't answer. He just looked back at Will, hands still braced at his waist. Grounding him.

"Maybe he's close," Mike murmured, jaw tight.

The bell rang in the distance.

A jarring, too-normal sound.

Mike exhaled through his nose, then turned to the group, still holding Will like he was afraid to let go. "Okay. Squawk, six o'clock. Not a second later, got it?"

Lucas and Dustin both nodded, more serious now.

Then Mike turned back, pulling Will into a tighter embrace. He pressed his forehead briefly to Will's forehead, voice gentler this time.

"Are you okay?"

Will nodded, breath shaky. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah."

Lucas patted his arm, glancing at the school in the distance. "We gotta move."

Mike looked into Will's eyes. "You sure?"

Will didn't hesitate. "Yeah."

Still, Mike didn't let go immediately. He kept one arm around Will's back as they began moving, walking slower than the others. Dustin stayed close too, offering a hand on Will's shoulder now and then.

"Take it slow," Dustin said under his breath.

Eventually, Mike loosened his grip, letting Will move on his own. But his hand brushed against Will's lower back more than once, not ready to put full distance between them.

They jogged the last bit to school.

But Will could still feel the imprint of Mike's arms on him, even after they let go.

—

The crawl had gone off the rails.

Plans were crumbling, backup was late, and now Will and Robin had been tasked with the critical job of getting the suppressants to subdue the Turnbow household before things spiraled further. It should've been simple.

It never was.

They moved quickly down the sterile hospital corridor, Robin rambling as she clutched the small, padded case of medication. Her voice echoed lightly off the tiled floor and off-white walls, her mouth running faster than her feet.

"—and I'm just saying, Mrs. Massey doesn't need the cookies. Plus I'm sure she appreciates me more than her actual family—"

Suddenly, she gasped.

Without warning, she yanked Will backward, pulling him sharply around the corner they had just come from. His arm flailed in surprise.

"W-What are you doing?" Will asked, breath catching as he tried to steady himself, wide-eyed and startled.

"Hiding!" Robin hissed, her voice too loud to count as an actual whisper.

"Hiding. Right," Will echoed, glancing around the otherwise quiet hallway. "Why?"

Before he could finish processing, Robin grabbed him again and dropped them both to the floor. Will blinked at her in confusion as she crouched low, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a tiny compact mirror.

She held it up at an angle toward the hallway.

"Oh, Jesus, she talks so much," Robin muttered. "And yes, I know I'm a hypocrite."

Will opened his mouth. "I—"

"We have to go," she cut in, already on her feet.

They took off again, the squeak of their shoes sharp against the tile. Robin darted left at the next junction, dragging Will with her until they reached an unmarked door. She crouched low behind it, panting slightly, her eyes wide with nerves.

"I promised Vickie I'd take her to Enzo's tonight," she said quickly, voice tight. "And now I can't—obviously—which means I have to ditch her again for reasons I can't explain, because, y'know, the world's ending and all. So, we're probably gonna fight, and I won't make it to my fake Granny's room in time, and the entire Wheeler plan collapses because of me." She paused, wide-eyed.

"I can't be the reason the Wheeler's plan fails."

She looked at him, breathless.

"Okay?" she asked.

Will blinked, then nodded slowly, voice soft snd understanding. "Okay."

Robin peeked again with her mirror, cursed softly, and quickly pulled Will into a dim, empty hospital room. She shut the door behind them and took position beside the tiny rectangular window. Will stood on the other side, breathing quietly, his heart still racing.

Robin peeked outside again and sighed. "Okay. We're clear."

Will grinned at her, the tension starting to fade. "Y'know, you could always just kiss her again."

Robin glanced at him, unimpressed. "I doubt it'd work. She's as stubborn as me. If not worse."

Will laughed softly, leaning his back against the wall. He hesitated, then asked, "So... how did you know? With Vickie, right? H-How did you know that Vickie wanted to—"

"Make out?"

"To mate," Will corrected quickly, cheeks warm.

Robin tilted her head, lips twitching in a smile, probably thinking about the bite mark on Vickie’s neck, the one Will had caught a glimpse of.

"Well..." she said, shrugging slightly. "There were signs. Signals."

"Signals?" Will asked, eyes narrowing with quiet interest.

"Yeah. Like... she'd scent me all the time. Real casual, but not accidental. She fussed over me constantly. And she got so protective over the dumbest stuff."

Will nodded slowly, absorbing every word.

His heart fluttered, tight and full. Mike.

He thought about the way Mike always worried over him. The way his scent clung to Will's clothes even when he didn't wear his sweaters. The way Mike's teeth grazed Will's neck anytime he scented him. The way Mike bristled if someone so much as raised their voice at Will.

He wondered—hoped—that it meant what he thought it meant. That Mike was just as devoted as he was. That he wasn't imagining all the little signs that meant something bigger. He wanted to ask for more. He wanted to be his mate. He just... didn't know if Mike wanted that too. He was afraid of scaring his boyfriend with too much commitment.

Robin didn't notice his silence. She continued with a faint smile, her voice gentler now.

"It all just kind of built up. Like a snowball rolling downhill."

Will looked at her, eyes soft. "How obvious did it get?"

Robin glanced over, then laughed under her breath. "Let's just say... the snowball turned into an avalanche."

—

After everything—the upside-down timelines, the lost people—what remained of the team in the Rightside Up was now tasked with helping the kids and keeping them safe. From the military. From Vecna. From whatever came next.

Out in the field, the sun beamed gently, golden and forgiving against the chaos they'd crawled through.

A little ways from the others, Will and Mike walked side by side, their fingers threaded together, hands warm in the quiet. The grass whispered beneath their boots. They bumped shoulders softly, playful and absent-minded. Mike raised an eyebrow with a crooked smile, and Will gave him a small, bashful grin in return, gently squeezing his hand.

Since reuniting after the Demogorgon attack, they'd been inseparable—magnetized. Mike had become overprotective in a way that bordered on ridiculous, constantly pushing food into Will's hands, tugging jackets over his shoulders, or pressing water bottles into his grip like Will might disappear if he didn't keep him grounded.

And Will... Will was just as bad. He scolded Mike whenever he pushed himself too hard, forced him to rest, hovered near him like a shield. They'd disappeared from the group at least ten times already, but no one questioned it. Everyone knew what they were doing.

They were finding pieces of themselves in each other. Comfort. Stillness. Peace.

The silence between them wasn't awkward or strained. It felt earned. Like the world had finally gone quiet enough for them to listen to each other breathe.

"Your mom and Robin are getting along better," Mike said softly, his thumb brushing against the back of Will's hand.

Will shrugged, lips tugging into a smile. "Well, it didn't hurt that Mom scared off that Demo—saved Robin's life. Everybody's life, really."

Mike chuckled under his breath, looking down at the ground as they walked. "So, when your mom—when she had her axe... you could see her? Like, through the Demo's eyes?"

Will nodded slowly. "Yeah. And I was so close to the hive, it's like I could feel what it was feeling. This anger that I was still in there, still fighting. It hated that."

His voice dropped. "And I was afraid. I was afraid for my mom."

Mike held his hand tighter, rubbing his thumb in soothing, slow circles. "You wanted to protect her."

"Yeah," Will breathed, voice cracking. "But I... I just couldn't. It was like this scary movie you just can't turn off."

They kept walking, shoulders brushing every few steps. Mike didn't say anything for a long moment. Then, wordlessly, he lifted Will's hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. Just one. Gentle, fleeting, and full of meaning.

Will didn't pull away.

They almost reached the trapdoor—the tunnel entrance that waited beneath. The others were already inside. Now, only the two of them remained.

As they came to a stop, they slowly untangled their fingers. But just as they did, Mike blurted out—

"Are you positive you didn't?"

Will paused, blinking. "Didn't what?"

"Turn off the scary movie?" Mike said, glancing at him. "Protect your mom. Not the other way around, I mean—no offense. I know she's badass and everything, but you know—"

Will huffed out a quiet laugh. "Yeah, she's five-three."

"Yeah!" Mike nodded, animated now. "And Vecna likes to control the hive mind like a puppet master, right? So maybe, when you tap into the hive, you can pull the strings too."

"Except I'm not Vecna," Will said, turning his head slightly, the smile fading just a little.

"You sorta are," Mike replied casually.

Will scoffed, giving him a look. "You're trying to say that I'm evil and hell-bent on destroying the world?"

"Totally," Mike threw his head back dramatically. Then, with a scrunch of his nose, added, "No, I'm just saying that—you know..." His voice trailed off as he fumbled for words, suddenly flustered. "You're like a wizard. Like him."

"In D&D, Mike. Not real life," Will said with a roll of his eyes.

Mike grinned and placed a hand lightly on Will's waist. "True. In real life, you're more like a sorcerer, because your powers don't come from a book of spells. They're innate."

Will snorted out a laugh, trying not to grin too wide. Mike kept going, eyes soft.

"Listen, as far as crazy theories go, I've had worse. And with Jane stuck in the Upside Down, we could use a little magic up here."

From the edge of the trapdoor, Robin paused, watching the scene unfold just before she descended. She watched the way Mike looked at Will like he was the only thing in the room. The way his voice softened without him even realizing. The way his scent changed. His whole body leaned subtly toward Will, drawn in like gravity was different around him.

Will smiled and gave Mike a playful shove, knocking their arms apart for a second. Mike blushed and looked away, his signature crooked smile tugging at his lips.

Robin, grinning to herself, slipped down the trapdoor just as Mike waved Will over to follow. The long journey underground had to begin.

They walked through the cave in a small formation, flashlights bouncing off jagged stone walls. Eventually, the group split. Joyce, Mike, and Lucas led the front while Robin and Will lingered behind, their footsteps slower.

Will kept his eyes on the ground, lost in his thoughts, not focused on anything in particular—until he bumped into Robin's back.

"Oh—my—sorry," he stammered.

Robin glanced back at him with a gentle smile. "Hey," she said simply.

"Hi," Will replied, still slightly confused.

They took a few more careful steps forward, the air thick and quiet around them. Then Robin spoke, her voice steady, eyes ahead.

"Do you, um, by any chance remember Tammy Thompson?" Robin asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Will blinked, caught a little off guard by the sudden shift in tone. "Yeah, isn't she that terrible singer?"

Robin huffed out a laugh, smiling like it was a memory she couldn't quite let go of. "Yeah. But in ninth grade, I thought she sounded like Whitney goddamn Houston."

Will tilted his head, curious now, unsure where this was going but not opposed to listening.

"I mean, the first time I saw her—oh my God," Robin said with a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Time slowed down. It was like a scene from some lame-o movie, you know?" She grinned. "Her hair blew in the wind, and she just looked... perfect."

Her voice cracked on the word. "So goddamn perfect."

Will nodded, his chest tightening.

"And uh, it was right then and there that I knew she was the one," Robin said, eyes faraway. "That with Tammy, I'd finally be able to be myself. All of myself."

Something shifted inside Will. An understanding. Like a thread pulled tight between the two of them, something that connected them without needing to be said. They were the same. Different stories, but the same ache. The same hope.

"Because there was always this part of me," Robin continued, her voice soft and shaking slightly, "that kind of... scared me, you know?"

Will gave her his full attention.

"I thought if Tammy loved me—all of me—I wouldn't be so scared anymore. That maybe... maybe that part of me wouldn't feel so wrong." She swallowed hard. Her voice was barely a whisper. "But... then he showed up."

She rolled her eyes, trying to smile.

"Steve 'The Hair' Harrington."

Will laughed. "Oh God."

Robin laughed too, though the sound was tinged with something fragile. "You can probably guess the rest."

He didn't say anything, just nodded gently.

"Well, regardless... I was devastated. My grades dropped. I got grounded. But then—" Her voice lifted, soft and breathless, "when I met Vickie, it was like all that pain just... melted."

Her eyes shimmered as she spoke, words thick with emotion.

"I couldn't believe a soul like hers found someone like me. I really thought that if Tammy couldn't like me, then no one could. And then... Vickie found me."

She smiled, eyes shining, voice soaked in melting sugar.

"Even though I was heartbroken over Tammy, Vickie was something so much more. Vickie saw me. She talked to me. Laughed with me. Cried with me. She was more than just some hallway crush."

Robin paused, breathing slowly.

"She was everything."

The word hung there, bold and soft all at once.

She turned to Will, her voice trembling slightly.

"Despite our ups and downs, I can always count on her to be the one standing by my side no matter what. She's... she's my best friend. My mate."

Will's eyes glistened, her words cutting through the haze of fear and uncertainty he'd been carrying. He felt a rush of emotion surge through him—relief, admiration, longing. Her story wasn't his, but it echoed in a way that made him feel seen.

Robin's eyes didn't leave his.

"Once I realized that," she said, her voice quiet but certain, "it was like... it was there."

She made a soft gesture with her hand, like she was holding something delicate in her palm.

"The love we both felt. I couldn't stop myself from thinking about our forever. And— and..."

Up ahead, Mike turned and watched, eyes narrowing slightly as Robin and Will stood shoulder to shoulder in quiet conversation. His instincts buzzed under his skin, itching for him to go over and see what was being said. Something about Will's posture made his chest tighten—he looked emotional, shoulders curled inward just slightly, and even from this distance, Mike could trace the faint scent of him in the air. Familiar. Comforting. And just a little off.

He couldn't hear much, only bits and pieces—soft voices, the gentle echo of Robin's laugh—but they suddenly stopped walking. They were close. Closer than Mike expected. And for a second, the worst thoughts spiraled through his mind.

He knew Robin was dating Vickie. And he knew Vickie was an omega, which technically made things complicated. But Robin was a beta. There was nothing chemically stopping her from... from trying something, especially not with Will—sweet, brilliant, beautiful Will. Sure, there was the age gap, but that didn't do much to settle the itch crawling up Mike's spine.

He planted his boots where he stood. He could run up to them. He wanted to. But he stopped himself

Instead, he watched.

And what he saw didn't make things easier.

They weren't flirting. Not even close. But they looked like they got each other. Like they were speaking a language only they could understand. There was a closeness there—of kindred hearts—and it stung in a way Mike didn't want to admit.

From behind, Lucas's voice broke the tension, echoing down the tunnel. "Take your time, will ya?"

Robin and Will turned at the sound, and then—both at once—they laughed. Heads tipped back, eyes watery, wiping at their faces as they jogged toward the group.

Mike frowned.

Brows pulled tight, he waited. Robin brushed past him first, saying something in a light tone he didn't even register. He didn't care to.

His attention snapped to Will.

His Will.

Lashes damp. Eyes glossy. But smiling. Softly. Genuinely.

Mike reached for his hand without thinking, fingers curling into Will's gently. "What were you guys talking about?" he asked, brow raised, voice low.

Will only shook his head, still watching Mike with this glowing warmth in his eyes—so deep and sure that Mike's stomach flipped. He didn't answer.

Instead, he leaned in.

A kiss. Soft. Quick. The kind that left Mike blinking, heart catching in his throat. It was gone in a flash, but it left behind heat on his lips and a hum in his chest. He stood there, flushed and confused, but the grin that spread across his face was impossible to hide.

Will nudged him, teasing and light. "C'mon. Robin said they found Dick."

Mike blinked, dazed for half a second longer before snapping out of it, that dopey smile still plastered to his face as he followed close behind.

—

Mike watched in horror, frozen in place as Joyce clutched Will's writhing body to her chest. Will was screaming—loud, ragged—his agony sharp enough to slice through the deafening chaos. Behind them, fire engulfed the demogorgon that had nearly ripped them apart, its screeches melding with the roar of flames and gunfire.

Joyce dragged Will behind a nearby army tank, shielding him with her body, eyes wild and full of rage. Mike tried to focus, tried to keep track of the kids scattered around him, but the heat and smoke blurred everything together. The flamethrower's blaze lit the entire field in flickering orange and red, too bright, too hot.

Then—

A prickle.

A cold crawl down the back of his neck.

Mike's head snapped toward the gate.

Something was there.

A shape.

Him.

Through the swirling smoke and flickering fire, a towering figure emerged—Vecna, but not as they'd seen him before. His form was different now. Evolved. Terrifying.

The air shifted.

Joyce turned her head, saw him—and the scream that caught in her throat never made it out. Her eyes went wide. Her entire body tensed as the gate split further, ripped apart like wet paper. The temperature dropped, and time seemed to stall.

Everyone froze.

Vecna stepped through.

The army fired first. A barrage of bullets filled the air—but Vecna barely blinked. The rounds ricocheted off an invisible force, falling uselessly to the ground. With a tilt of his head and a flick of his hand, he sent soldiers flying, bones cracking as their bodies slammed into armored trucks and metal poles.

Mike flinched at the clang of impact, then the thud of flesh on concrete.

Another wave of fire erupted from the flamethrowers—this time aimed directly at Vecna. But the flame didn't reach him. With a slow motion of his arm, Vecna reversed the blaze, bending fire like a puppet's string, until it turned back on its wielder.

The man screamed.

Then—boom. The flamethrower exploded.

The blast knocked Mike off his feet. He flew backward, hit the ground hard, and his head cracked against the concrete.

Everything went black.

The battlefield was drowning in chaos.

Soldiers scrambled, but Vecna moved through them like a storm. One by one, their grenades detonated in their hands—ripping them apart with their own weapons. The injured demogorgons at his feet began to rise again, twitching and shrieking as Vecna's energy poured back into them.

Far off, Robin and Murray's truck was ambushed, the trio of demogorgons returning to life and sprinting full speed toward them.

In the tunnels, Lucas skidded back on his heels, swinging a crowbar as the demogorgan on the ground revived.

"Back up, guys, back up!" he yelled, voice trembling.

Then—

Another one emerged behind him, he was surrounded. He swallowed hard. This was it. He braced himself, ready to fight to the last second.

In the heart of it all, Vecna stood tall—calm in the fire and destruction swirling around him. Smoke and embers danced in the air like ash at the end of the world. His head turned slowly toward the army tank where Joyce crouched, arms around Will.

With a lift of his hand, he hurled the massive tank like a toy. It spun through the air and slammed into the side of a building with a violent crash.

Joyce stared in shock, panting. Then— Something snapped inside her.

She rose. Fury burned in her chest, sharper than fear. She stepped toward Vecna, fists clenched, primal instincts taking over as the only emotion she felt was aggressive protectiveness.

"Stay away from him!" she screamed

Her voice cracked—but it carried, "You stay away!"

Vecna didn't hesitate.

With a flick of his hand, her body lifted off the ground and threw itself backward, slamming hard into the dirt. She didn't move.

Still gasping on the ground, Will lay helpless—pale, shaking, and covered in soot.

Vecna turned his eyes on him, then lifted his hand.

Will's body began to rise. Helpless. Suspended mid-air. His limbs hung limp as the dark magic wrapped around him, pulling him closer to the monster at the center of it all.

Closer to Vecna.

Mike was still unconscious and Will was alone.

Will's eyes widened in helpless, frozen terror as his body drifted through the air—closer and closer to the source of his nightmares. Vecna stood still at the center of the chaos, his form monstrous and commanding, cloaked in fire and shadow. His hand was raised, and with it, Will's body hung suspended—dangling like a puppet.

"Can you see them, William?" came Vecna's voice—deep, distorted, inhuman. It wasn't loud, but it cut through the battlefield like a blade. "Can you see the children?"

Will trembled. His chest rose and fell in short, rapid breaths, but his vision was not his own. He saw now through someone else's eyes—or perhaps a version of his own he didn't recognize. In his mind, he was trapped behind glass, forced to witness scenes he couldn't stop.

He watched as terrified children screamed in vain, arms outstretched, tears cutting lines through their dirt-smeared cheeks. Demogorgons swarmed them like shadows at dusk, tearing them away. He could hear the crying, the begging, the wails of fear.

Then—Lucas.

Will gasped as he saw his friend struck, the demogorgon slashing across his torso. Lucas hit the ground hard, blood already soaking through his shirt as he groaned in pain, too weak to stand. Will reached out, but his body wasn't really there. He couldn't touch. Couldn't stop it.

"It's because they are weak," Vecna said, louder now. His voice echoed like thunder between dimensions.

Down on the ground, Mike stirred. He groaned, lifting his head slowly, dazed—just in time to see the swarm of demogorgons dragging the children through fresh gates. He scrambled to his knees, heart pounding, eyes scanning wildly for Will.

In the tunnels, Lucas crawled with one arm. A small child sobbed, reaching out to him, his voice shrill and broken. "Help me!" he screamed. "Please!" But Lucas couldn't reach him in time. The gate behind them snapped shut.

"Weak in body and mind," Vecna went on.

In the distance, Robin limped toward the shredded wreckage of their truck. She gripped the jagged metal for balance, eyes going wide in horror as she saw the back was empty. The children who had once been inside were gone. Another gate had swallowed them whole.

"Easily broken," Vecna hissed, his hand still outstretched as he drifted toward Will. "Easily reshaped. Controlled. The perfect vessels."

Will whimpered, tears already slipping down his cheeks. He couldn't move. Couldn't stop the storm rising in his chest.

"And you, Will..." Vecna cooed, voice dipping low as he floated closer, unnervingly calm. One twisted hand reached out and stroked Will's cheek with mock tenderness.

"You were the first."

Mike stared in horror from below, frozen in place. His body ached to move, to get up, to do something, but what could he do? This was Vecna. This was the monster. And Will—Will was just hanging there, crying.

Will's body convulsed with a sob. Vecna's next words pierced him deeper than any claw.

"And you broke so easily."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement. A cruel one. Said with full certainty. And Will remembered.

His mind was suddenly flooded with flashes of cold, dirty darkness. The Mind Flayer. The tendrils. The empty feeling of being used. He remembered the quiet sobs at night, the dreams that weren't dreams. The loneliness. The pain.

"You showed me what was possible," Vecna said. "What I could achieve. You, William, showed me that some minds..." He tilted his head. "Some minds don't belong in this world."

Will's body shook, and not from cold.

The tears came harder. He was unraveling. Memories bled together—past and present, truth and fear. And then came the sharpest of them all.

The feeling of hopelessly, helplessly being in love with Mike. All those years of hiding it, burying it. And now, even after everything... he still wondered.

Did Mike really love him back?

Did he love him the way Will did?

"They belong in mine," Vecna whispered.

And with that final word, he dropped him.

Will's body hit the dirt hard. He gasped, face buried in the earth as he sobbed into his arms, his chest heaving with every broken breath. The world around him blurred—but even in that despair, he could still see the horror unfolding.

The demogorgons, still under Vecna's command, began to move again. He watched as one raised a claw to strike Robin where she stood by the truck. He watched another lunge toward Lucas in the tunnel, who screamed and tried to roll out of the way.

But worst of all—

He saw one sprinting toward Mike. Full speed. Massive. Feral. Claws raised. Intent to kill.

Mike didn't even have time to scream. His arms came up to shield himself, eyes wide in fear.

Will watched it all.

And time—slowed.

He took in a breath. But instead of panic or pain, something else filled him. A memory, small and fragile.

He was on the playground. Alone. The world had felt so gray that day. Everyone had a friend but him. The cold wind tugged at his jacket, and he had sat on the swings, staring at the ground, just... existing.

A small, familiar figure approached quietly and took the empty swing beside him. That sweet little voice broke the silence with a question that carried innocence and hope: " Do you want to be friends?"

Will nodded with a smile, not missing a beat, and began to swing in full force. Mike did the same beside him, their movements in sync like they always had been.

As the wind rushed past his face, memories flooded Will's mind—memories so vivid they played like a film behind his eyes. He saw himself and Mike as kids, crouched over a D&D board, their laughter echoing in a world only they understood. He remembered afternoons spent sketching in quiet focus, then eagerly running to his mother to show her each drawing. Her voice was warm and full of pride as she cooed over his talent, telling him how amazing he was.

He remembered building Castle Byers with his brother—his beloved brother—who always made time for him. He could still feel his brother's hand ruffling his hair, hear the sound of nails being hammered into wood just for him.

There were other warm flashes too. Mike, introducing Lucas and Dustin with excitement in his eyes. Lucas, side by side with him at the arcade. Dustin, singing loud, ridiculous songs until they both wheezed with laughter. Jane's soft giggles as they shared silly jokes. Max, headphones shared between them as they listened to music, lost in rhythm and emotion.

And then—memories of Mike.

Mike holding him.

Mike hugging him.

Mike kissing him.

It had been warm. It had been real.

It had been happy.

Mike gasped aloud, frozen in shock as the demogorgan charging toward him suddenly lifted off the ground—levitating mid-air, thrashing and shrieking but unable to move closer.

His gaze shifted past the monster, heart thundering in disbelief, until he saw him.

Will.

His Will.

Will stood several feet away, arm extended, palm raised and open toward the creature. His eyes—burning white. His face—twisted in focus and fury. The demogorgan shook, held completely suspended in Will's grasp.

In the tunnels, Lucas, bracing for what he thought would be his final moment, flinched when the creature didn't strike. Robin at the truck, too, flinched back—then slowly opened her eyes, confused to find herself still alive, and the demogorgan standing frozen directly in front of her.

Mike watched Will as he now had both arms raised. His head tilted back, lips slightly parted, and the air around him pulsed with invisible force. Mike watched in stunned awe as Will lifted his arms higher—and the demogorgan let out a piercing scream as it was yanked upward into the air like a ragdoll.

With a sharp, fluid motion, Will brought his arms down, fists clenched.

The creature contorted violently—bones cracking.

Its limbs—snapping.

Its neck—twisting.

It shattered mid-air with a grotesque finality.

Will collapsed to his knees, fists unclenching as his body sagged from the effort. Slowly, his head lifted. The glow in his eyes faded back to normal, and a thin line of blood trailed from his nose. He raised a trembling hand to wipe it away, and when he looked up again, something had shifted in him.

There was a glare behind his eyes now—sharp, angry, alive.

Mike stared at him, utterly transfixed. In that moment, Will looked... breathtaking. Powerful and beautiful all at once.

The trance broke only when Joyce ran to Will, dropping to her knees and pulling him into a desperate hug. That's when Mike snapped back into motion. He didn't hesitate—he ran straight for them.

Joyce's voice trembled as she whispered, "I don't understand... how did you—?"

Mike cut her off, breathless and grinning.

"He's a sorcerer! A real-life, honest-to-God sorcerer!"

Without thinking, he wrapped Will into a tight hug, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

"Mike," Will whispered, arms curling around him. The relief of feeling Mike's body against his own hit like a wave, and his eyes stung with tears.

Mike pulled back just enough to see his face, though his arms stayed wrapped tightly around him. One hand came up to Will's cheek, wiping away some of the grime as he spoke, voice trembling with excitement.

"You did it. You really did it."

His thumb moved gently across Will's skin, grounding them both in the middle of a moment they'd never forget.

Will smiled at first, a soft, fleeting moment of warmth swelling in his chest—until it dropped, crashing like a wave against the rocks. His expression fell, shadowed with guilt and pain.

"He got the kids..." he murmured, voice tight.

"He got them. All of them. All twelve."

He looked down, eyes clouded with disappointment that carved deep into his features.

"We failed—" he choked, "I failed."

But before the weight could crush him completely, both Joyce and Mike stepped closer, shaking their heads with silent insistence. There was no blame in their eyes—only urgency, only resolve. Will glanced up, just as the distant sound of helicopters cut through the sky, growing louder by the second.

"The tunnels," Mike said quickly, eyes narrowing. "RadioShack."

Will nodded. Joyce gave a firm, if breathless, nod too. Without another word, the three of them broke into a run, boots pounding against broken pavement as smoke and sirens wailed in the distance behind them.

They didn't get far before Joyce stumbled with a sharp cry, clutching her side. Her steps faltered into a limp. Will spun around instantly, Mike already at her side, each of them grabbing one of her arms and supporting her weight.

Together, they pressed forward, half-carrying her toward safety—toward the radioshack—leaving behind the smoking ruins and devastation that had nearly taken everything.

But they were still alive. And they were still running.

—

Everyone had settled into the WSQK building—the old, half-renovated space turned into a makeshift base. There was tension in the air, thick and quiet, as they gathered supplies and prepared for what felt like a final war. Every corner was filled with movement: the team arming themselves with whatever they could find—bats, knives, stolen weapons, reinforced gear pieced together with duct tape and hope.

In the lounge, away from the noise, Will sat quietly on a sagging couch. His thoughts were loud, looping in anxious circles. Across the room, Mike stood watching him. He was fully geared up—makeshift armor over his sweater, boots muddy from recon. He hesitated before walking over.

Will looked up and scoffed under his breath, just enough to ease the tension. "You look ridiculous."

That soft scoff brought visible relief to Mike, who rolled his eyes and smirked. "I think I look pretty awesome," he said, shrugging like a show-off.

Will smiled—barely—but then looked away. His silence stretched too long, and Mike's smirk faltered. Slowly, he reached out, lacing his fingers into Will's hand with a softness that said I know you.

"Wanna go to the bathroom real quick?" he asked, voice low, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

But Will knew exactly what he meant. Not anything reckless or rushed. Just privacy. A moment between them where the world didn't exist. Where Will could rest his head on Mike's shoulder and feel arms around his waist and not worry about everything outside the door. Mike could probably sense how tense he was, how overdue he was for comfort. For closeness.

Will looked up at him—and gently pulled his hand away. "Not right now," he murmured, avoiding Mike's eyes.

It was the third time he'd turned him down. The first had been not long after they'd escaped the tunnels, in the middle of the chaos—planning to resurrect a Demogorgon, dragging their poor science teacher into the mess. The second after Will woke up from his temporary Vecna coma. That time too, Mike had looked confused. Genuinely hurt. Like he couldn't figure out what he'd done wrong.

This time was no different.

Mike blinked, quiet. "Oh," he said, voice soft enough to ache. "Okay. I'm gonna be helping make a bomb, so just... just let me know, okay?"

There was no anger in his tone. Just that same sweet, patient softness that always made Will feel like crying.

They had been ripped from each other's side, nearly watched the other die—and that only made it hurt worse. That even now, with all they'd survived, Will still couldn't let himself reach out and hold on to him.

He nodded, eyes still cast downward.

Mike leaned in, pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—a small, warm moment—and stepped back. He paused for just a breath before finally turning and walking downstairs.

Will stared at the floor. The second the his footsteps were no longer audible, he sighed sharply, whispering to himself under his breath. "Stupid."

The sound of wheels clicking on the floor pulled him from his spiral. He looked up to see Max rolling toward him in her chair, Vickie behind her with careful hands on the handles. Max's expression was sharp and tired.

"I wish I wasn't stuck here," she grumbled. "I feel useless."

Will shook his head instantly.

"El and Kali are gonna need you in the mind," he said, gently. Then his voice dipped quieter. "I'm the one who's useless." He pressed his fingers into his wrist without thinking, the familiar pressure grounding him.

Max narrowed her eyes. "Don't forget you literally saved my life."

Will gave a half-shrug. "It's my fault he even found you in the first place—"

"It's thanks to you I got out," she cut in, voice firm, gaze sharp. Her words struck clean and hard.

Will's mouth shut. He didn't argue.

Max tilted her head, studying him. "I know this whole thing with Vecna is throwing us all on a loop, but... it's not just about Vecna, is it?"

Will blinked, caught off guard. She already knew—of course she did. That was something they had always shared. Both of them were watchers more than talkers. Observers. Quiet but sharp. They had seen things in others no one else did. It had bonded them. That, and being omegas. Another silent link between them.

Max glanced over her shoulder briefly before continuing, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "I heard you and Mike are dating."

Will gave a big smile back—but it quickly fell. Max's smile faded immediately. "Did he do something? I swear to God, that idiot—"

"No! No, he didn't do anything," Will rushed to say, panic flashing in his voice. "I just—"

"Hold on," Vickie interrupted gently. "Before you say anything, do you want me to stay or... should I go?" Her voice was calm, nonjudgmental. Just checking in.

Will looked over at Vickie and gave a small nod, a quiet signal that it was okay to stay. She understood immediately, guiding Max's wheelchair closer to the couch before taking a seat herself. She sat beside Will, but respectfully left a bit of space between them.

The room shifted. Not in sound, but in atmosphere—like something important was about to be said. Private. Heavy. Both Max and Vickie seemed to sense it, their bodies stilling, eyes gentle. Will hesitated for only a moment before speaking.

"Actually," he said softly, glancing between them, "you and Robin kind of made me realize this..."

Vickie's eyes widened with surprise, her eyebrows lifting as she leaned forward. "Oh! Okay, yeah, sure—what did we make you realize?" she asked, her voice nothing but open curiosity and concern. No teasing, no pressure. Just listening. And in that moment, Will understood why Robin had chosen her. Why she'd bonded her as quickly as she had.

Will took a deep breath, grounding himself before the words slipped out.

"One time, when I was at the hospital with Lucas, I saw you and Robin... making out. In the bathroom."

Vickie gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth with a mortified expression. "Oh my God—I am so sorry, Will," she blurted, shame washing over her as she began to ramble. "We didn't think anyone was around, I swear—"

Will waved a hand quickly, cutting her off. "No, no, no. It's not that. That's not why I brought it up."

Vickie fell quiet, still clearly embarrassed, but now listening. Will looked down at his hands, fingers nervously twisting in his lap as he kept going.

"I saw the claim mark," he said quietly. "On your neck. I didn't mean to—but I did. And it made me realize that I..."

He paused. Swallowed hard.

"I want one too."

Max's eyes widened slightly. The silence that followed wasn't judgmental. It was understanding. Vickie gave a small nod, her expression softening as she processed his words.

But Max, always more blunt, furrowed her brows and leaned forward a little. "I don't get it," she said, her voice sharp with protective edge. "Does Mike not want to bond you?"

There was irritation in her tone, like the idea alone made her angry, her flowery and cinnamon sugary scent flaring—like she couldn't imagine Mike rejecting Will, not after everything.

Will didn't answer right away. He just kept fiddling with his fingers, heart pounding in his chest, unsure how to explain that Mike hadn't said anything at all—that maybe that was the problem.

"That's the thing," Will said quietly, eyes still fixed on his hands. "I haven't told him yet."

Vickie leaned in just slightly, voice soft and curious. "Why not?"

Will felt it immediately—that rush of fear rising up in his throat, tightening his chest. "I don't want to scare him away," he murmured. "I don't want to rush him into something he doesn't want, especially something so serious."

Both Vickie and Max nodded, their expressions shifting in understanding. Vickie sat up straighter, thoughtful, like she was weighing her words carefully.

"I can understand that," she said slowly, her voice calm and even. "Bonding's huge. It's not just a relationship thing—it's instinct and permanence and trust. And when you're the one who's already sure, but you're not sure if the other person is... it's scary. You feel like you're holding this big thing alone, afraid to drop it in case it's too much."

Will didn't say anything, but his eyes flicked up to her for a second. She smiled, gently. She smelled of sweet cherries and vanilla bean.

"But here's the thing, Will. Being scared doesn't mean it's not worth saying. You're not forcing him if you tell him what you want. You're giving him a truth. Something real to hold onto. And if Mike really loves you the way it seems like he does—he's not gonna run. He might not be ready right away, sure. But he'll hear you."

Will's lips pressed together, his throat tight. Vickie's words settled like warmth in his chest, not taking the fear away—but making it easier to breathe through it.

"It's not wrong to want forever," she added. "Especially not with someone you've already survived hell with."

Max nodded beside her, arms crossed loosely over her lap. "And if he does freak out," she said bluntly, "he's an idiot. But I really don't think he will. He's been circling you like you're gravity for years."

That got a small, crooked smile from Will. Not much—but it was real.

"Just think about telling him," Vickie said gently. "Not because you owe it to him. But because you deserve to be honest about what you want, too."

Will let out a slow breath and leaned back into the couch, eyes drifting toward the staircase Mike had disappeared down earlier. His body had been aching for Mike's closeness for what felt like forever. But every time Mike reached out, Will pulled away—not because he didn't want him, but because some part of him thought it would make Mike's rejection hurt less when it finally came.

But it wasn't fair. Not to Mike, who had been nothing but patient, nothing but soft and consistent and real. And it wasn't fair to himself either. Will wanted to be loved—fully, permanently. He wanted forever. That wasn't weakness. That was human. That was him.

He owed it to himself to stop hiding. Especially now. Especially when keeping secrets only gave people like Vecna something to twist.

"I think I'm gonna tell him," Will said suddenly, standing up.

Max raised her eyebrows. "Like... right now?"

Will looked at her and nodded with a flicker of newfound courage lighting in his eyes. "Yeah. I can't let this eat away at me anymore—especially not with Vecna still out there."

He turned toward the stairs, but before he went down, he looked back at the two of them.

"And... thank you. Both of you. I wouldn't have been able to find the courage without you guys."

Vickie gave him a warm smile, and Max smirked. "Tell him if he says no, I'll kill him," she muttered under her breath.

Will laughed, his voice light. "Will do."

He turned to head down the stairs—only to nearly collide with Mike, who was suddenly standing right in front of him at the bottom of the landing. Will stopped short, blinking.

"Will!" Mike said, surprised. "Hey, I—uh, you going somewhere?"

His brows pulled together as he looked around, trying to read the situation. Will smiled at the confusion, the way Mike was always a little slower to catch emotional shifts but never missed the important moments.

Instead of answering right away, Will reached out and took his hand.

It was like a switch flipped. Mike's full attention landed on him immediately, his fingers squeezing Will's hand in return, like he hadn't even realized how much he'd needed that small contact until it was there.

"I was coming to find you," Will said, voice soft but steady.

Mike's eyes searched his. "Oh," he breathed, clearly surprised. "What's up?"

Will didn't get the chance to respond before the sound of Max's wheelchair rolling over the hardwood behind him made him glance over his shoulder. Max gave him a wink as Vickie guided her toward the exit.

"I'm gonna get some fresh air," Max said casually, but the wink made it clear she was giving them space. Vickie shot him a quick thumbs-up as they disappeared outside.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Mike hesitated. He raised his free hand and gently rested it on Will's hip, watching him closely, checking for any sign that he should back off.

Will didn't move away.

He couldn't hold it in anymore.

Will slipped his hand out of Mike's and, without a word, cupped his palms around his face. His thumbs brushed gently along the sharp curve of Mike's cheekbones as he leaned up, eyes half-lidded, and pressed their lips together.

Mike melted into the kiss almost instantly.

He bent slightly, arms wrapping securely around Will's waist, pulling him close, his mouth moving with the slow rhythm Will set. He kissed him like he hadn't been sure he'd ever get to again—like something fragile and precious he didn't want to shatter.

Up close, Will could smell him so clearly—earthy, warm, a little like the woods after rain. Something about it always brought him comfort, always made the tension in his shoulders loosen. He exhaled softly into the kiss, the sound close to a sigh, like someone getting a long-awaited fix after being starved of it.

When they finally pulled apart, just barely, Mike rested his forehead against Will's. His eyes searched his face, and then he whispered, low and open:

"I love you."

Will blinked, caught for a breath, his heart stumbling in his chest. Then he gave a soft smile, sweet and teasing as he tried to ease the weight of the moment.

"What was that for?" he asked quietly.

Mike shrugged, pulling back to look at his face. but there was something sad in his gaze, something vulnerable that lingered behind the smile he tried to return.

"You've been avoiding me," he said softly, his hands running up and down Will's sides. "Did I do something?"

Will's smile faltered.

He didn't answer—not right away. Instead, he reached for Mike's hand and gently tugged him toward the couch. Mike followed without protest, eyes never leaving him.

They sat down together, the room quiet now. The hum of tension wasn't heavy, but it was there—resting gently between them, waiting. Will sat facing Mike, close but not clinging. His fingers were still laced with Mike's, but his eyes were focused, steady.

The air shifted—no longer light, no longer shy.

Something serious was coming, and for the first time in a while, Will felt ready to say it.

"Mike," Will sighed, his voice already trembling as he tried—and failed—to hold Mike's gaze. "I haven't been completely honest with you in our relationship."

He said it like a confession, quiet and raw. He felt Mike's breath hitch beside him, the sound sharp and uncertain.

The scent between them shifted subtly, deepening with tension. Mike's fingers tightened just slightly around Will's hand, not enough to hurt—but enough to anchor.

Will finally found the courage to look into his eyes.

"I... I've just been thinking, recently, that we—"

"I don't want to break up."

The words spilled out of Mike's mouth in a rush, and Will froze, his eyes widening.

"What?" he breathed, startled.

"Will, I don't know what I did," Mike said quickly, voice cracking as it rushed forward in a panic. "But I promise I can fix it—we can work through it. Please."

He let go of Will's hand only to grab at his sleeves, clutching them tightly in his fists.

"I—I need you, Will. And I love you so much. We can't break up, okay? It's impossible. We're supposed to be crazy together, remember?"

Mike's voice broke completely by the end, tears welling in his eyes as he pulled Will in and wrapped his arms around him, holding on with an urgency that made Will's heart clench. Mike buried his face into Will's neck, breathing him in, rubbing his cheek against the curve of Will's scent gland.

Will let out a surprised squeak, wrapping his arms around Mike instinctively. It had been a while since they'd scent-marked, and Mike clearly didn't care that they weren't alone in the building. Right now, he needed this. He needed him.

"Mike—"

"Please, Will," he whispered, voice trembling now as he continued to scent him, urgent and messy, like he was afraid Will might disappear if he stopped. His scent—clean linen and cedar—washed over Will, warm and grounding and overwhelming all at once.

It hit Will like a jolt, heat rushing to his cheeks. That scent always did something to him.

He exhaled shakily and began rubbing slow, calming circles into Mike's back. "Hey," he said softly, trying to soothe him.

Mike didn't let up. His hands moved across Will's torso, desperate, grounding himself in touch and scent and closeness. "Mike," Will said again, more firmly, even as a soft purr threatened to escape the back of his throat.

Finally, Mike stilled—his hands, his breath, all of him. He held himself rigid, like he was bracing for something terrible.

Will leaned his forehead into Mike's curls, brushing his cheek against his in a featherlight touch.

"I don't want to break up either, Mike," he said quietly.

Mike released a shaky, loud breath—half a sigh, half a sob—and collapsed further into Will's chest like he was letting go of a hundred pounds of fear.

"Thank god," he muttered. "Will, you scared me. I totally thought I lost you. I was already planning what I had to do to win you back, or keep you, or—I don't know."

Will couldn't help it—he laughed. The sound was light and relieved and full of warmth.

"Mike," he said, pulling back just enough to look at him, "you know I've been in love with you since forever."

"I know!" Mike exclaimed, wiping his eyes messily with his sleeve. "I know. I just thought... maybe you finally got sick of me or something. I don't know." His voice cracked again. He looked exhausted. Desperate. So in love.

Will smiled, eyes shining, and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

"No way," Will whispered, his voice light with laughter and love. "It's the opposite if anything."

Mike's eyes searched his face like he was reading scripture—glancing down at his lips, then back into his eyes, cautious, curious, hoping. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice low.

Will froze. The words sat on the edge of his tongue, hot and trembling. Now he had to say what he really meant. The thing he'd been circling for weeks. Maybe longer.

He blinked and looked down, chewing nervously at his bottom lip. His fingers trembled faintly in his lap.

"I... I want—" he started, the words catching halfway out of his throat.

Mike tilted his head, patient but present. "Keep going," he hummed gently, encouraging him with nothing but warmth.

Will nodded slowly, breathing through it.

"I want to be mates."

He said it. Quiet, but whole.

Then he waited.

Mike's face didn't change much. He didn't smile, didn't flinch, didn't speak. His eyes just locked onto Will's, full of something that looked almost like awe. His posture was awkward, tense—like sitting perfectly still would make the moment real.

Will's breath caught. He forced himself to keep going, even as silence pressed in.

"D-Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, voice small. "I love where we are right now. I'm happy—so happy with how we've been. But..."

He swallowed, his fingers twisting together anxiously.

"But I want us to be a forever kind of thing. I want to be bonded in body and in soul. I want us to be permanent."

Mike nodded slowly, glancing down at the floor like he was holding a hundred thoughts in his head at once.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" he asked softly.

Will's throat burned.

"Yeah," he admitted, voice cracking. "I was scared of how you'd react. So I pulled away. I thought if I made space, it wouldn't hurt so bad if you didn't want the same thing. I shouldn't have done that... and I'm sorry."

He looked down again, guilt sitting heavy in his chest like a stone. The air felt too thick. He didn't even realize his shoulders had curled inward until he felt warm hands on his cheeks.

Mike cupped his face gently, tilting it back up.

And smiled.

It was a small smile, but it held so much—fondness, tenderness, something that looked dangerously close to relief.

"Will," he said, voice soft and slow, dripping like melted honey, "you could've told me that the second we started dating and I would've said yes on the spot."

Will blinked. His breath hitched, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

"I've been wanting that too," Mike said, thumbs brushing softly along his cheekbones. "I've been thinking about it almost every day. I just didn't say anything because I didn't want to scare you. I thought if I pushed too hard, I'd ruin the rhythm we had. That you'd feel trapped or pressured."

Will nodded his head insistently, eyes watering as he laughed, "Me too, I thought you'd feel that too." He let out a soft laugh under his breath and shook his head at himself.

"I guess we were both being idiots." Mike huffed out, wiping his eyes.

Will's heart was pounding now—not from fear, but from the quiet, intense joy that was starting to build inside his chest like sunlight rising behind a storm.

"You want to?" he asked, barely above a whisper, like a dream was coming true, so delicate. "Really?"

Mike leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth, gentle and grounding.

"Yeah," he said, nose brushing against Will's. "I want all of it. You and me. Permanently."

Will exhaled shakily, eyes shining. "I can't believe I was scared."

Mike smiled wider, his arms winding around Will once more as he pulled him into a quiet, close hold.

"Hey," he whispered, voice warm against Will's ear. "Forever's scary. But not with you."

The words struck deep, sending something bright and burning through Will's chest—like a thousand suns igniting behind his ribs all at once. His whole body buzzed with lightness. He could've run a mile, maybe two, and never gotten tired. The fear, the doubt, the weight that had been clinging to him for weeks... it all dissolved under the warmth of Mike's arms and the sound of his voice.

They leaned back just enough to meet each other's eyes before their lips found each other again.

This time, the kiss was different.

Not rushed or desperate. Not tentative or afraid. It pulsed with something new—something clear and decided. It felt like a beginning. Like their very first kiss, all over again, only this time, without all the uncertainty. It buzzed with joy. Will smiled into it, a soft giggle escaping against Mike's lips, and Mike smiled too, pressing closer, savoring the sound like it was his favorite song.

And then—

"Ahem."

They both froze.

Will pulled back with a startled breath, glancing toward the source of the interruption. Mike groaned loudly.

On the staircase stood Nancy, arms crossed, her expression the very definition of unimpressed.

"Sorry to ruin your little moment," she said, tone dry, "but we have a literal space demon to kill. And very limited time to kill it."

Mike rolled his eyes and groaned louder, dragging himself off the couch. Will nearly whined at the sudden loss of contact, still flushed and dazed from the kiss. Mike caught the look on his face and softened, immediately leaning back down to press a kiss to his forehead—warm, lingering, full of quiet promise.

"Talk to you in a bit, okay?" he murmured.

Will smiled up at him, eyes bright. "Okay."

As Mike turned to follow his sister, Nancy wrinkled her nose dramatically. "Control your smell, Mike. It reeks in here."

Mike scoffed, already halfway to the stairs. "Jesus, Nance, I was with my literal boyfriend. What do you expect? You and Jonathan have done worse—"

"We have not!"

"You so have!"

Their bickering echoed down the stairwell, voices overlapping with the ease of siblings who've fought over everything since they were toddlers.

Will just sat there, lips still tingling, heart still fluttering, listening to the fading sound of their voices. He exhaled, deeply and fully, like something heavy had finally been lifted from his chest. For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't worried. Wasn't stuck in his head.

He was loved. He was chosen.

And now, with the weight gone and Mike's warmth still lingering on his skin, Will felt like he could take on the world.

—

Will was winded, his chest heaving as he finally pulled himself over the edge of the platform. He stumbled away from the ladder, legs shaking, and caught himself against the railing. Beside him, Mike was already there—sweating, flushed, hunched over and chugging from a dented water bottle like he'd just climbed out of hell.

Which, to be fair, they kind of had.

Without a word, Mike handed him the bottle. Will took it gratefully, tilting it back and gulping it down in desperate pulls. Cold water dripped down his chin, trailing down the front of his throat, soaking into his collar.

Mike watched him, silent. His eyes followed every movement, every shift of Will's fingers around the bottle, the curve of his neck as he swallowed. Not with lust, not even with distraction—just this deep, open attention. Like looking at Will settled something in him.

Will pulled away with a gasp, breathless as he handed the bottle back. Mike took it, the worst of his exhaustion fading now. Will leaned back against the rail beside him and glanced up—only to see another endless stretch of ladder bars waiting to be climbed, vanishing into gray.

He groaned quietly, already exhausted again.

He looked down at Mike, who tilted his head back to follow his gaze. His expression immediately matched Will's frustration.

Mike started rubbing his lower back with one hand, eyebrows raised in a well, this sucks kind of way.

It is what it is.

Will rolled his eyes at him, lifting a brow.

Well, I don't like what it is.

Mike huffed a quiet laugh, his hand still moving in soothing circles along Will's back. It drifted upward, fingers trailing until his thumb reached the nape of Will's neck. He rubbed there gently, his thumb brushing over the small mole at the base of his hairline—the one he'd memorized long ago, like a marker that said this is mine.

The wind picked up, sharp and high, brushing through their sweat-damp hair. The gray sky above them rumbled, thunder cracking somewhere in the distance—low, deep, and grim. Everything smelled like metal and storm.

But Mike's voice was steady, firm, cutting through the noise around them.

"As soon as this is over," he said, eyes full of something unshakable, "we'll bond and do everything together. We'll explore the world, and do anything and everything there is to do."

His tone was full of promise. Not hope. Certainty.

"As mates," he said.

Will's heart thudded hard in his chest, loud and alive. That word didn't scare him anymore—not when Mike said it like that. Like it was their ending. Like it was already real.

The tower creaked slightly under their weight as another gust rolled past them, but Will wasn't focused on the storm anymore. His body, still exhausted, felt lighter. His soul—anchored.

Mike reached down, wordless again, and slid his hand into Will's. Their fingers laced easily, naturally, like this had always been how they were meant to fit.

Will felt his heart swell, expanding into every inch of his chest until it felt too big for his body. All those warm, fuzzy emotions he always felt around Mike—the affection, the comfort, the peace—were now amplified, glowing in full color.

He squeezed Mike's hand.

"As mates," Will repeated softly.

A vow.

And his heart, despite everything around them, finally steadied.

—

Will held Hopper tightly, arms wrapped firm around his middle, face pressed into his chest. Hopper's large hand ruffled his hair in that rough, familiar way—then came the series of heavy, thudding pats on his back that could only come from someone who didn't do subtle affection but meant every bit of it.

"I'm proud of you, kid," Hopper said, voice low and gruff, but brimming with pride.

The words landed heavy and warm in Will's chest, flooding him with a deep, quiet kind of comfort. Hopper had always been something like a father figure to him—strong, steady, and never once ashamed of who Will was. Just a solid presence in a world that too often felt unstable.

They pulled apart, and Will barely caught it—the way Hopper swiped a hand quickly over his eyes.

Will blinked. "Are you crying?" he asked, half-shocked, half-laughing.

"I am not crying," Hopper grunted, turning slightly as if that would hide the obvious. "It's the confetti—it's getting in my eyes."

"Dad is lying," Jane said flatly from nearby, drawing a grin from Will.

Joyce stood behind her, lovingly combing her fingers through Jane's wavy hair. The air around her was laced with the soft, sweet scent of baked apples and pie crust—her scent, warm and maternal, comforting in a way that seemed to wrap around all of them.

"Oh, honey," Joyce cooed softly, her voice tight with emotion. "You just look so beautiful. I'm so proud of you."

Jane's face lit up, her cheeks flushed pink with joy as she leaned into the affection, practically melting in Joyce's hands. Joyce tucked a loose curl behind her ear with careful fingers, and Jane beamed.

"Thank you, Mom," she murmured, voice gentle and full of meaning.

Joyce smiled through her glassy eyes and pressed a soft kiss to Jane's forehead, her hands smoothing down her ceremonial gown and adjusting the cords around her neck with trembling care. She was still fussing when Hopper stepped back into view and pressed his own kiss to the top of Jane's head, then scooped her into a tight, bone-crushing bear hug that made her laugh and squeeze him just as tightly back.

Jonathan joined next, slipping into the circle and pulling Jane into his arms with a wide grin. He rocked her side to side like he used to when Will was younger, when the world was simpler and softer. Jane laughed again, and the sound rose like music above the hum of celebration around them.

From a few feet away, Will watched it all unfold.

And for a moment—just a moment—everything felt still.

The war was over.

They had survived. Scarred, yes. Tired, yes. But alive. The air buzzed with joy and peace, like something sacred had finally settled over them all. The flashes of fear and pain still lingered somewhere behind his ribs, but they didn't own him anymore. Not in this moment.

He watched his mother rubbing Jane's shoulder with quiet affection. Watched Hopper—his soon-to-be father—cupping Jane's face, his tough features softened by love so visible it nearly made Will cry. Jonathan stood beside her, smiling like he'd never stop, eyes shining with pride.

And then—Will's gaze shifted.

He looked at Jane directly.

His sister.

Her wavy hair spilled down over her shoulders, soft and shining in the sunlight. Purple and orange confetti drifted slowly through the air around her, clinging to her gown, catching in her curls. Her eyes sparkled as she laughed, cheeks flushed, joy blooming across her face like light.

She was radiant.

She was alive.

She was home.

And Will's heart swelled with a kind of love so deep it felt rooted in his bones. His vision blurred with tears he didn't bother to wipe away.

Hopper turned suddenly and waved Will over with a sharp tilt of his head. Will hesitated only for a second before walking toward them, his eyes stinging as confetti drifted down around them in slow, colorful spirals. The moment he stepped in, strong arms wrapped around him from all sides, pulling him into the warmth of a family hug.

It was tight and clumsy and full of too many limbs—but it was perfect.

The Byers, now almost seamlessly joined with the Hoppers, stood pressed together as one. They had made it out. All of them. Scarred and shaken, but alive. And right now, happiness outweighed everything else.

When they finally pulled apart, Will and Jane exchanged a look before telling their parents they were going to go find their friends. Joyce immediately pulled Will into another hug, this one fierce and desperate, her arms locked around him as if she might never let go.

"My handsome boy, my sweet baby," she sobbed openly, tears soaking into his gown  as she hiccupped through her words. "I love you soo much. I'm so proud of you—"

Will laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing slow circles into her back, breathing in her familiar warmth. "Mom," he said gently, amused and affectionate, "I'm not dying. I'm literally just going to—"

"Alright, alright," Hopper cut in, stepping closer and resting a steady hand on Joyce's shoulder. "C'mon, Joyce. Let the kid celebrate."

Joyce sniffed, nodding as she wiped at her eyes, then leaned into Hopper's side. She waved through watery smiles as Will and Jane headed off, disappearing into the crowd of students scattered across the field.

The noise was overwhelming—laughter, cheering, crying. The air was thick with emotion, pheromones clashing and blending until it was hard to pick out anything familiar. Will breathed in deeply, instinctively searching for one scent above all others.

Nothing.

He scanned the crowd again, eyes darting from face to face, his heart starting to beat faster with each second. He wanted to find him. He needed to. He wanted to share this feeling—the relief, the joy, the we made it—with his other half.

Mike.

Jane tapped his shoulder.

Will turned, and she pointed discreetly toward a group in the distance. His heart lifted when he recognized them immediately—Lucas, Max, and Dustin standing together, laughing loudly.

Will and Jane broke into a jog, weaving through the crowd. The moment the group spotted them, cheers erupted.

"We fucking did it!" Dustin shouted, throwing his arms up. "We survived an apocalypse and graduated!"

"Damn right!" Max yelled, pumping her fist as Lucas grinned beside her.

They collapsed into a messy circle, arms slung over shoulders, hopping and laughing until they finally slowed, breathless and giddy. One by one, they hugged—tight, meaningful embraces filled with relief and disbelief.

Will laughed with them, but his eyes kept drifting.

Scanning. Searching.

A crease formed between his brows as confusion settled in.

"Where's Mike?" he asked casually, though his chest tightened the moment the words left his mouth. The group went quiet.

Lucas and Dustin exchanged a look. Max's smile faded just slightly. Will noticed it immediately—the way Lucas's expression faltered, the way Dustin opened his mouth and then closed it again.

"Uh... he's—" Lucas started.

"He's... he didn't—?" Dustin tried, stumbling over the words.

"Will," Max cut in gently, her voice shifting into that honest, no-bullshit tone she always used when things mattered. She hesitated, then looked him straight in the eye. "No one told you?"

Will blinked. Once. Twice.

"No?" His confusion sharpened into something colder. He looked around at all of them, trying to read their faces, his heart beginning to pound. "Told me what?"

No one answered.

Jane placed a hand on Will's shoulder, her grip firm but not rough.

"You should go home," she said.

There was no warmth in her voice. No softness. Just flat certainty, her tone unreadable.

Will blinked at her, his head tilting slightly in confusion. "Wha—?"

"There's something waiting for you," she interrupted, still emotionless. "Go."

She didn't elaborate. There was no hesitation in her voice, no room for debate or doubt. Just a command wrapped in something... strange. Final. Like she knew something he didn't.

Will turned slowly, looking at all of them—Max, Lucas, Dustin. None of them said anything. None of them smiled. Their faces were still, eyes unreadable, mouths set tight. It felt like ice crackling through his veins. A strange chill bloomed in his chest.

But underneath that—

An urge.

A sudden, overwhelming need.

Will took a step back. Then another. His feet moved faster before his brain could catch up, and suddenly he was running—full speed—out through the crowd and down the street.

He ran like the world was ending again.

Familiar neighborhoods blurred past him. Trees he used to climb. Sidewalks they used to chalk up with game plans for summer adventures. Driveways that still bore the faint marks of their bikes' tire treads. He could've closed his eyes and known the turns by heart.

But all he saw—all he wanted—was Mike.

His lungs burned. His legs screamed. But it didn't matter. The only thing in his head, louder than his heartbeat, stronger than the stitch in his side, was the need to see him.

To hold him.

To kiss him. To love him.

Mike was his best friend, his first love, his forever. Will didn't want space. He didn't want room to breathe. He wanted to crawl under Mike's skin and never leave. He wanted to wrap himself around him and stay there, where it was safe and warm and real.

He ran faster.

Images flashed in his mind—Mike's full, crooked smile. His wild black hair. The way he tilted his head when he was focused. The soft way he looked at Will when he thought no one else was watching. Will's body ached for that warmth, that connection, like he was being pulled by a magnet that lived in his bones.

He reached the cabin just as the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, staining everything gold. His heart pounded so hard he could barely hear the sound of the creaky porch steps as he climbed them. The scent of burning wax and flowers filled his lungs—sweet, soft, and slightly smoky, curling around him like a memory.

His hand trembled on the doorknob as he pushed the cabin door open.

The light inside was gentle, golden rays filtering in through dusty windows. The air was still, but not empty. It felt prepared.

Will stepped inside cautiously, his pulse still racing. His eyes darted across the room.

That's when he saw them. Petals.

Scattered across the floor—sun-warmed yellows, deep sunset oranges, soft velvet reds—laid out in a winding path through the room, like someone had carefully placed them one by one. Will followed the trail, heart hammering louder with each step. His shoes creaked softly on the wooden floorboards as he walked, gown fluttering with each step.

The trail led him into the center of the living room, where the petals formed a loose circle. Right there, resting in the middle of the space, was a folded blue sweater.

And atop it—

A letter.

Will moved toward it without hesitation, pulled as if something deep inside him already knew what this was. He dropped to his knees, fingers trembling as they reached for the letter. His hands worked clumsily, driven by urgency rather than care, and he fumbled the paper open.

Inside was a single folded sheet of paper, smooth and plain, torn from a notebook.

Will's breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on the handwriting.

Mike's.

The loopy, half-messy scrawl was unmistakable. His chest squeezed tightly as he sat back on his heels, gently setting the box aside. He shrugged out of his ceremonial gown, too constrictive now, too formal for what this was. He needed to feel grounded—he needed to feel real.

Then, with careful hands, he unfolded the paper and began to read.

Dear Will,

Ever since we were kids, it's always been you and I. A package deal. Peas in a pod.

I always felt free around you, like I was only ever really alive when it was just us. Mom says I imprinted on you when we were little, and honestly? I believe her. But even if I hadn't, I know I still would've been this obsessed. You're just... you.

Then it all got ruined. When Vecna stole you from me, it was the first time I ever experienced true anguish. That word sounds dramatic, right? But it's the only one that fits. That was the first time I truly understood what it meant to feel like I was dying without someone.

I was suffering. Day and night. You weren't beside me and I couldn't breathe right. I kept looking over my shoulder like I'd find you there, I was torn apart, and then you came back to me.

I've never felt anything like that relief. Not before, not since. I wanted to grab you and never let go. I almost did. I almost kidnapped you right then and there, just to keep you safe, to hide you from anything else that could take you from me again.

But then I got stupid. I got overwhelmed. El (Jane) needed me. And I thought I could juggle it all, but I lost track of you, of us. Then you moved away. I never told you this, but that broke me in a way I didn't know was possible.

I told myself it was just because Jane left, too. That it was the change. The shift. But that was a lie. I knew what it really was. It was you.

You weren't here. You weren't near me. And my body felt it. It was like something was missing all the time. A piece of me had been snatched away. I tried to pretend it was fine. That the ache would go away.

Will's eyes stayed fixed on the paper, his breath trembling now as he turned to the next part of the letter. Mike's voice practically echoed in his head, messy and unguarded and so him it made Will's heart twist.

I tried to ignore your existence. I really did. I told myself the letters and the calls didn't mean anything. That they were just... echoes. Ghosts. I tried to pretend that you were just part of a memory and not someone I was still aching for.

But then Jane sent a particular letter. And everything changed. I don't know if you were starting your heat or marking her or whatever, but holy shit, Will, the paper was covered in your scent.

I'd caught hints of it before—faint and soft, like whispers—but that time? It was so strong. I remember holding that letter in my hands and it was like something snapped. Like a switch flipped in me that had been waiting years to be turned on.

I went through my first rut with only your letter under my pillow. Not even kidding. That letter basically saved my life. It felt like you were with me, like I wasn't totally alone. I think that's when I stopped pretending.

And yeah, uh... I still keep that letter. It's literally still under my pillow. Kind of embarrassing but... yeah.

Will let out a breathy laugh through the tears welling in his eyes. He clutched the letter a little tighter, grounding himself with the weight of it.

And then you showed up at the airport and you looked— God, you looked so good. So grown. So... you. But the thing that threw me off completely? You didn't smell like anything. No scent. Not even a trace.

It freaked me out so bad I couldn't even act normal, and I know I was a total jerk that day, and I'm so sorry. Again. You're an omega, and I knew that, and part of me was so excited to see you again in real life, to smell you for real, to just feel you next to me again and then, nothing. It honestly kind of messed with me. I didn't know if you were hiding it or sick or just didn't want me near you anymore.

So yeah. I acted like an asshole. Again, I'm sorry. For the millionth time.

Will's eyes blurred again. That day at the airport had haunted him—how cold Mike had seemed, how distant. But reading this now, it unraveled something tight in his chest. Mike had cared. He'd just been confused, scared, too.

Anyway, things got crazy after that. Bad guys, explosions, El being taken again. You remember. But in the van? That was the first time I smelled you again. Like, really smelled you. I remember it hit me so fast my brain short-circuited. It was just… you. Finally. You leaned into me, and I swear, Will, it was like my body just knew. Everything else went quiet. My brain, my anxiety, all the stuff in my chest? It stopped. I just felt you. And I knew I never wanted to be away from you again.

Will's fingers trembled now, the page shaking slightly as he kept reading, lips parted, breath shallow. He could remember that van ride too—the weight of Mike's hand, the safety of it, the feeling of home.

When El and I finally broke up, it wasn't messy or dramatic. It was actually kind of peaceful. Mutual. She was the first person I told about how I felt about you, and I even asked her permission to try something with you. Crazy, right? I thought maybe she'd say no. But she didn't. She just smiled and said "It's always been him, hasn't it?" And yeah. It has.

Will felt his throat tighten. He reached up and wiped his eyes with the back of his wrist, laughter bubbling through his tears.

Then everything finally came out in the bathroom. All the stuff I'd been bottling for years—every part of me that ever felt wrong—it all felt right when I touched you. When you kissed me. When you said my name like that. I've never felt like that before. Not even close. It was like I'd been asleep and someone finally turned the lights on. I finally felt alive.

Will pressed the paper to his chest for a second, squeezing his eyes shut. His heart was racing now—not with panic, not with fear—but with something brighter. Something bigger.

Ever since, our relationship has been everything to me. I love how we fit together like puzzle pieces. How we just click. How nothing ever has to be forced with you—it's just us.

I love how you laugh at my dumb jokes, even when they're not funny. I love how you mess with my hair when it's ugly—or worse, try to fix it like you're not making it worse (you're not, it's actually cute).

I love how you play with Holly when I'm too annoyed to, and how she likes you more than me—yeah, I notice. I love how you hum when you draw, like you're in your own little world. I love how you laugh with your whole body when Lucas says something stupid, like it always catches you off guard.

I love how you cry when you're emotional, like you don't even try to hide it. Like your heart is always right there on the surface, where mine can reach it.

I love how you see things no one else sees. How you notice when I'm off. How you call me out when I'm being dumb. How you love me—really love me—without trying to change me. I love that you come to me when you need comfort. And I love that you let me come to you when I need it, too.

I love the way you kiss me to say you're okay, especially after... stuff. I love how you curl into me after, like you're stitching us together again. I love all of it. The good. The hard. The stupid. The quiet. The messy. The in-between. I love every part of this life with you, Will.

I love you. Always have.

Will's lip trembled. His whole body ached with how deeply he felt it—every line, every pause, every way Mike saw him, knew him, loved him. The weight of it wrapped around him like a second skin.

We've survived evil space creatures and lab rats and army men. We've survived the literal apocalypse. But we didn't just survive, Will—we survived together. And I want to keep surviving all of life's crazy, hard, unfair obstacles—with you. For as long as I possibly can.

I want it all. The highs. The breakdowns. The bad haircuts. The holidays. The boring errands. The family dinners. The new places. The quiet Sundays. The nights curled up under the same blanket doing nothing.

I want it all with you.

Will's throat tightened, and he let out a shaky exhale, pressing the paper closer to his chest.

I want to mate you.

Loudly. Clearly. Boldly. I want to bond with you in every way we can. I want everyone to know you're mine—not in a possessive way, just in that "this is my person, this is my mate, and I'll love him until I'm dust" kind of way.

I know I've said a lot here and I'm sorry if it's too much, or cheesy, or awkward. I'm not an artist like you, okay? I don't know how to paint my love for you or draw it out the way you could if this were your letter. I only know how to say it.

So here it is.

I want forever with you.

I want to bond.

If you want it too... I'll be waiting in the bathroom (romantic, right?).

Love,

Mike.

Will was crying before he even realized it. Not just a few tears—he was weeping, full-bodied, tears slipping down his cheeks and dripping onto the paper, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his fingertips. His hand flew to his mouth as he laughed wetly, overwhelmed by it all.

He looked up—and the petals around him glowed in the soft sunset light. The sweater, the waxy air, the scent of flowers. It had all been for this.

For him.

Will stood up shakily, hands still clutching the letter to his chest as he turned toward the doorway. Because he knew—without doubt, without fear—Mike was close.

And he was going to say yes.

Not just to the bond.

But to everything.

Will stepped quietly through the hallway, his heart pounding with nervous energy, the letter still folded and safe in his back pocket. He stopped in front of the barely closed bathroom door, the light inside spilling into the hall in a soft gold glow. The house was quiet—like it knew this moment was something sacred.

The door creaked softly as he pushed it open.

The bathroom looked... empty.

Will blinked, frowning a little. "Mike?" he called, voice low.

No response.

Then his eyes landed on the tattered old shower curtain, drawn shut like the world's most suspicious mystery.

He raised a brow.

With the kind of slow, deliberate movement that made him feel like a character in a bad horror movie, Will reached out—and flung the curtain aside.

And there he was.

Mike Wheeler, six feet of gangly nerves and ridiculousness, crammed into the tub fully clothed, knees pulled up to his chest like some kind of cryptid caught in the wild. He looked up at Will with wide eyes and a goofy, nervous grin.

"...Hi," he said, voice too innocent.

Will stared.

Then snorted.

"What are you doing?" he asked, squinting like Mike was a science experiment gone wrong.

Mike grinned wider. "Uhh, taking a bath?" he offered, as if that explained anything.

Will laughed, shaking his head and holding out his hand. "Get out of there."

Mike took it gratefully, letting Will help pull him up. He stepped out of the tub with all the grace of a newborn deer, his Converse hitting the porcelain edge with a loud thunk.

"Smooth," Will deadpanned.

"Very," Mike said proudly.

They stood there for a second, close and quiet. The moment caught between laughter and something warmer. Will looked up at him, that same Mike Wheeler face he'd been in love with since childhood—dumb smile, too-long lashes, chaotic hair. He reached up and gently brushed a few strands out of Mike's face, his fingers lingering.

"So," Will said casually, eyes flicking between Mike's, "I got your letter."

Mike's ears turned pink instantly.

"Oh. That. Right." He scratched at his cheek, trying to play it cool and failing spectacularly. "Glad it was, y'know, delivered to the right place. What'd you, uh... what'd you think?"

Will tilted his head, thoughtful. "Mm... some grammatical errors here and there..."

Mike gaped. "Hey!" he protested, full pout on display.

Will burst into laughter, the sound bright and easy, echoing off the bathroom tile. He stepped in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Mike's waist and pulling him close until there was no space left between them. He pressed his face into Mike's chest, his voice muffled by fabric and warmth.

"I'm kidding," he murmured into the cotton of Mike's shirt. "It was perfect."

Mike let out a breath like he'd been holding it for days. His body softened all at once, arms sliding up around Will's shoulders. He held him tight, pressing his chin gently to the top of Will's head, breathing him in like a calming balm.

"I'm glad you liked it," he said quietly, pulling back just enough to meet Will's eyes—then leaned in, catching his lips in a soft kiss.

Then another.

And another.

"I made it," kiss

"While," kiss

"Thinking of you," kiss

"Only you."

Each kiss was a little deeper, a little longer—like punctuation to a sentence that had been waiting years to finally be said. Will's face was flushed, his cheeks sore from smiling, his heart so full it felt like it might lift right out of his chest and float away.

Mike looked down and caught Will staring at him with dark, soft eyes—needy and open and impossibly full. Like he was parched. Like Mike was the only thing in the world that could quench it.

Mike swallowed hard and pulled him back in, ruffling Will's curls with a shaky laugh that quickly turned into a quiet gasp. His body lit up with heat like it always did around Will, a fast-burning kind of warmth that made his head spin.

Then the scent hit him.

Juicy apple. Sweet, sticky honey. It was sudden and strong, heavy and familiar, like summer air thick with sugar—and it wrapped around Mike in an instant, going straight to the core of him. He shivered, a low sound rumbling from deep in his chest before he could stop it. He blinked, trying to clear his head, and gently eased himself away.

Every breath he took just made it worse.

"Will," he asked, gripping his shoulders as gently as he could, "why are you doing that?"

Will looked up at him, innocent and confused. "Aren't you gonna mate me?"

Mike's brain completely shut down. "No—!" he said too quickly, panicking. Will froze. "I mean—yes, of course yes, oh my god, yes. But—just not here!" Mike scrambled, barely able to string a sentence together. "Not in a bathroom, not when I wanted it to be—"

Will frowned slightly and leaned in again, releasing another soft wave of scent that hit Mike like a truck. He was blinking rapidly now, trying to stay grounded.

"Why not?" Will asked again, his voice quieter, softer, and far too dangerous. He pressed a kiss to Mike's neck. Then another. Mike's hands tensed on his shoulders.

"B‑Because—shit, wait, Will..." Mike mumbled, his voice catching as Will's hands slid up to cradle his jaw, fingers warm and certain. Mike's head tilted instinctively under the touch, his breath faltering as Will leaned in, tongue gliding from this neck to the edge of his ear,  the heat rolled through Mike like a crashing wave.

He felt Will's hands move again, dragging slowly down his chest—fingertips barely skimming through the fabric, just enough pressure to make Mike's spine arch slightly toward him. It wasn't much, but it was everything. The quiet way Will touched him, the boldness behind it—it made Mike dizzy.

Then Will nipped lightly at the curve of his ear whispering in a warm breathless beg, "Please."

Mike broke.

There was a sound—maybe a whimper, maybe a groan, Mike didn't know—and suddenly his arms were around Will's waist, hauling him closer like instinct had overridden logic, like everything in his body was screaming yes.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay, whatever you want, baby—wherever, whenever, I don't care anymore—"

Mike's breath caught as the scent hit him again—thick and sweet and unmistakably Will. His mind was already hazy with it, his body teetering on the edge, instincts clawing up his spine, loud and wanting. Without thinking, he gripped Will by the waist and lifted him up, setting him carefully on the edge of the sink.

Will gasped, a soft, breathy sound that made Mike's knees weak. His eyes sparkled with excitement, and his grin spread wide across his flushed cheeks.

Mike stepped between his legs, hands still firm on his hips, and leaned in to kiss him—really kiss him. Their mouths met again, more desperate this time, more giving. Will's scent only deepened as Mike leaned into it, letting it crash over him like a wave. Sticky apples and honey. It was dizzying, overwhelming in the best way.

They moaned into each other's mouths, lips parting and closing again in rhythm. Will's hands cupped Mike's face, his fingers threading gently into his hair. Every touch was a tether and a spark, grounding and igniting at the same time.

Mike pressed closer, feeling every shift in Will's body against his. His hands slid up, one settling at the small of Will's back, the other trailing to his chest, then down again with quiet reverence. He kissed him like it had taken them years to get here—because it had—and he wasn't about to rush through any second of it.

His fingers brushed the edge of Will's belt, a tentative movement, slow and careful. Will's breath hitched, his back arching slightly as his knees brushed Mike's hips.

Mike unbuckled Will's belt, quickly working to remove his pants. He pulled them off Will and let out a growl when he smelled Will's slick. "You sure," he started, unbuckling his own pants as he leaned back, eyes dark as he licked his lips, "you wanna do it here?"

Will's fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, breath uneven, chest rising and falling with each inhale of Mike's scent—sharp and warm and pulling him in like gravity. The fabric slid from his shoulders in a slow, clumsy motion as he stepped down from the sink, feet hitting the tile with a soft sound.

He reached for Mike, eyes never leaving his, and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.

Mike understood instantly.

He pulled it off without a word, dropping the fabric to the floor between them. The air between their bodies sparked with heat and tension, thick with the heady scent of apples and cedar and want. Then Will whispered, low and pleading—

"Please."

And that was it.

Mike let go.

He surged forward with a sound that wasn't quite human—a growl, raw and guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. His hands gripped Will's waist, then his back, pulling him flush against him as he kissed him—hard, hungry, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this exact moment.

Will whimpered into the kiss, fingers curling around Mike's neck as he melted into the contact, warmth flooding every inch of him. Mike's hand moved lower, palm firm as he gripped at the softness of Will's waist, fingers pressing into flesh like he needed to feel him, ground himself, make sure Will was real.

Will gasped, his head tipping back, a purr rising from his throat—low and broken and desperate. Mike's hips rolled forward against his without thinking, their bodies falling into a rhythm that sent sparks running up Will's spine.

It was too much. It wasn't enough.

They broke apart only for breath, Will panting softly as he turned around—facing the mirror, hands braced on either side of the sink. His chest rose and fell in quick waves, hair mussed, lips red, scent blooming fresh and hot in the air.

Then he looked over his shoulder. Eyes wide. Dark. Glowing with need. Arching his back just enough to say I'm ready.

Mike's breath caught hard in his throat.

The room felt charged, like the air itself had thickened around them. Something ancient and sacred pressed in on all sides, wrapping them together, binding them before a single word could be spoken.

"God, Will..." Mike whispered, his voice rough and reverent, like a prayer. He admired the curves of Will’s body, so plump and soft.

He stepped closer, hands reaching out slowly, almost shaking as his fingers brushed Will's sides. The touch was careful, grounding—like he was memorizing him, like he needed to feel every inch just to believe this was real.

Will leaned back into him instinctively, trusting him completely.

Mike pressed his forehead to Will's shoulder, breathing him in, overwhelmed by the warmth and the closeness and the sheer rightness of it. His hands tightened just slightly, holding Will there, anchoring them both.

"This is it," Mike murmured, voice low and steady despite how hard his heart was pounding. "This is forever." He rubbed his cock against Will's slick, Will shuddered.

Mike leaned down and kissed his cheek, slow and tender, lips lingering there like a vow. Will's breath stuttered, his whole body humming with anticipation as he pressed back into Mike's hold, desperate and trusting all at once.

Mike aligned his tip against Will's fluttering hole, pushing against him like they had always belonged this way. When he finally thrusted in with intention, Will gasped softly, the sound breaking and beautiful, and Mike held him tighter—supporting him, grounding him, never letting him feel alone for even a second.

Will clenched around him, and Mike's control snapped taut like a wire about to break. He sank his teeth into his lip, desperate not to mark Will right then and there. With a rough pull and a sharper thrust, he pressed back into him, forcing a loud, helpless moan from Will's throat. The pace deepened, deliberate and unrelenting, each motion sending shudders through Will's frame as Mike held him in place, possessive and unyielding. The heat between them was suffocating, every breath ragged, every touch sparking a need that threatened to consume them both.

"You're mine," he hissed, each word soaked in hunger. "You've always been mine."

Will shuddered, his fingers clawing at sink's rim, needing something—anything—to hold onto. His whole body was alive, straining, desperate to stay upright under the weight of Mike's touch. There was no gentleness now, only raw want.

Mike moved like he owned every inch of Will — rough, focused, like the idea of distance made him feral. Every grind of his body was deliberate, hungry, like he needed to feel Will shaking under him to stay grounded. Will gasped — high, wrecked — his knees buckling from the sheer pressure of being touched like that. Mike caught him without hesitation, fingers digging into his hips with bruising force, holding him in place like he was staking a claim.

"You're mine," Mike growled, low and dangerous. "Say it."

Will couldn't think — he could barely breathe. His whole body felt like it was strung too tight, trembling from the heat winding through him. "I—I'm yours," he whispered, voice cracking.

Mike let out a sound that was half a snarl, half a broken prayer, and then he was on him — mouth crashing against Will's throat, sucking, biting, dragging his teeth like he needed to brand him. Will arched into it with a ragged cry, body jolting with every press of lips and tongue, every possessive scrape of teeth. He could feel Mike's breath against his skin — hot, unsteady — and the way his hands gripped like he never wanted to let go.

Will couldn't hold on. Couldn't speak. Every thought had been drowned in heat and tension, replaced by sensation, by Mike, by the way the world disappeared under his touch.

Mike's movements turned erratic — not rhythm, but raw, helpless need. His breath came in gasps, sharp and fractured, like holding back was agony. "I can't—" he choked, voice shredded. "You don't know what you do to me."

Then everything inside him exploded.

His hips slammed forward with desperate force, his mouth crashing against Will's neck, teeth sinking in deeply shaking, like he needed to lose himself in the heat of Will's skin. Will cried out, the sound ripped from somewhere deep, primal, his head falling back as his body arched, overwhelmed. White light burst behind his eyes, vision fracturing into stars as everything inside him surged and shattered at once.

For a moment, there was nothing else — just the two of them, locked together, bodies trembling, breaths ragged and shallow. Mike pulled back from Will's neck, tongue flicking over his lips as he tasted the sharp hint of blood, the mark he'd left still warm against his mouth. He leaned in again, slower this time, lapping at the wound with a low, satisfied growl — not soothing, not apologizing... just claiming.

Will whimpered beneath him, the sound breathy and raw, spine arching as Mike pushed in deeper — impossibly deep — and then stilled. A sudden fullness locked them together, thick and inescapable. Will gasped, fingers digging into Mike's back as a shudder rolled through him, his entire body tensing around the bond now forged.

Mike held him tighter, chest heaving, something feral and unspoken crackling in the air between them. His knot had taken — firm, final, sealing them in a way that went beyond physical.

They weren't just joined. They were bound — not only in flesh, but in something deeper, more permanent. It pulsed beneath the skin, in every lingering breath and every shiver that ran between them. Mike's grip didn't loosen, and Will didn't try to pull away. There was no need to speak it aloud — the bond had already sealed itself into place, fierce and final.

What they had wasn't just heat or instinct anymore. It had crossed into something that would outlive the moment. Trust, loyalty, need — all of it twisted together into something new. Something that didn't ask for rings or vows or witnesses. This was older than tradition, wilder than words. Mike had claimed him, yes — but Will had given himself just as fully, just as freely.

And in that same bathroom where everything had first cracked open between them — where tension and longing had bloomed unchecked — they let go of the quiet restraint they'd clung to for so long. What started as loyalty had evolved into something heavier. More sacred. It was a promise, unspoken but absolute, carved into every breath they shared.

They didn't need a ceremony. This was it — the moment everything changed. Not the end of something fragile, but the beginning of something brutal and beautiful and entirely theirs.

—

Will scribbled into his sketchbook, brow furrowed in thought as he flipped between pages and glanced at the list of adjectives he'd been cycling through, trying to pin down the right mood for a scene. The scratch of pencil filled the soft, sleepy quiet of the morning— until a gentle clink of ceramic pulled his attention from the page.

A yellow mug was set down beside him.

Will looked up and smiled instantly. "Thanks."

Mike returned the smile, a little crooked from sleep, as he pushed his glasses up his nose and lowered himself into the chair beside Will. His own blue mug steamed faintly in his hands as he stretched out his fingers, already eyeing the open sketchbook.

"Looks good," he said, voice still warm and rough from sleep.

Will tilted the book toward him. "Am I getting it right? The whole sensitive sorcerer and reckless knight thing?"

Mike nodded without hesitation, grinning. "Yeah. It's perfect. Totally them."

Will smiled softly, satisfied, and went back to shading in part of the cover. "Joyce called," Mike added after a sip of coffee, "asked how the book was coming along."

Will rolled his eyes affectionately. "What'd you tell her?"

"That we're working on the final touches," Mike replied with a shrug, lips twitching. "She was pleased but still suspicious."

"She's been on my case about it for months," Will muttered, but he was smiling.

The two of them sat in easy silence for a while, the kind that only came after years of being around someone who felt like home. The sketchbook on Will's side of the desk was nearly filled— the cover design for their newest book finally coming together. It was the fifth in the series, the quiet culmination of something that had started as a one-off idea after high school. Their own real lives, fictionalized into a world of magic and danger and heart— Stranger Things, born from memory and imagination. Mike wrote. Will illustrated. Together, they made stories that had taken off in ways neither of them had expected.

Now in their thirties, that once wild adventure had settled into something stable and sweet— deadlines and mugs of coffee, edits and sketches, late-night brainstorming and early-morning cuddles.

Mike glanced at Will again, gaze catching on the soft curve of his neck where his shirt had slipped down slightly. The mark was still there— faint but visible, a quiet echo of years past. It pulsed with warmth, not just a symbol of their bond but a timeline. A reminder.

He remembered it all: the early days— chaotic, messy, full of sharp emotions and hormones and whispered confessions in shadowed corners. He remembered stealing Will away into his room, remembered Jonathan's unimpressed glares the next morning, remembered falling in love between apocalypses and unfinished homework, in parking lots and basements and, yes... that bathroom.

Without thinking, he reached out and brushed his fingers along the mark. Will didn't flinch or ask; he simply leaned into the touch, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Mike leaned in, pressing a kiss to the side of Will's head, letting it linger for just a second before settling back into his chair with a long, contented sigh. He adjusted his glasses, rolled his shoulders, and set his fingers to the keys of his typewriter.

The sound of clacking keys joined the rhythm of Will's pencil strokes.

Their life was quiet. Steady. Woven through with routines and soft laughter, little joys and creative chaos. An author and an artist. Him and Will.

And in this little shared world they'd built—no monsters, no running, just love—Mike couldn't imagine being happier.