Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a bitterly cold morning in Hawkins, the kind of cold that seeped through layers of clothing and settled deep in your bones.

A dull gray sky hung low over the town, pressing down on the rooftops and leafless trees like a heavy blanket.

Everything felt unusually still, as if the town itself was holding its breath. The familiar houses and quiet roads seemed different somehow, quieter.

But inside the Byers household, it was almost comforting. The old house creaked and sighed against the wind, but within its worn walls there was warmth.

Will sat in his chair at his desk, small shoulders hunched in concentration.

A single lamp cast a golden circle over the paper in front of him, pushing back the grayness that pressed at the windows.

His pencil moved in careful, deliberate strokes, each line placed with quiet purpose.

He paused now and then, tilting his head, studying the world forming beneath his hand before adding another shadow, another detail. Here, he was in control.

This is exactly what Will liked. Peace, quiet, being calm.

Soft music played quietly on the radio in the corner of the room, its sound gentle and steady, filling the small space without overwhelming it.

As the chorus swelled, he leaned back slightly in his chair, letting the sound fill the space around him.

After a while, Will studied the page in front of him. His eyes traced every line, every shadow he had carefully pressed into the paper.

He let out a small breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It was good enough for now.

He’d decided that he would finish it later in class. The teachers don’t care, anyway.

Will was smart, like really smart. He was, without exaggeration, at the very top of his class. A lot of students admire him for that, they saw his intelligence as something impressive.

But not everyone looked at him with admiration.

There were quiet glances in the hallway, the kind that lingered a second too long. A few muttered comments under their breath when he passed by.

Will noticed, of course. He always noticed.

But he never bragged. Never corrected people just to prove he could. He didn’t care.

And because he didn’t chase approval, because he didn’t bend himself into something easier to like, a lot of them resented him for it.

They hated that he seemed unbothered.

They hated that popularity came to him without him even trying, that people gravitated toward him naturally, drawn to his calm presence and thoughtful words.

He didn’t need to be loud. He didn’t need to show off. He didn’t need to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. And somehow, that made him stand out even more.

He was almost as popular and untouchable as Mike Wheeler.

Mike Wheeler was the standard everyone else was measured against. The golden boy of Hawkins High.

Tall, confident, sharp jawed and sharp minded, with the easy smile that made teachers forgiving and students eager to impress.

To most people, he was perfect.

And somehow, unbelievably, he didn’t have a girlfriend.

It wasn’t for lack of interest. Half the school would have said yes before he even finished asking.

But Mike Wheeler was selective, deliberate. He didn’t seem interested in shallow attention or hallway flirtations.

Which only made him more intriguing.

People admired him. Some worshipped him. A few feared him.

And standing just a step below that level of power and popularity was Will. Quieter, sharper, harder to read.

Though, they didn’t really know each other.

Not beyond passing glances in the hallway or the brief, indifferent awareness that came from existing in the same orbit.

If their eyes ever met across a crowded corridor, it was brief. Measuring, perhaps. Curious, maybe. But never lingering long enough to become something more.

You stay in your lane. I’ll stay in mine.

And that’s how they wanted it to be.

And Hawkins, small as it was, allowed it, for now.

—💥—

As Mike lay on his bed, staring at the faint cracks spreading across the ceiling, “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure drifted softly from his old CD player on the desk.

The room was dim except for the dull glow of a small lamp in the corner. Posters curled at the edges of the walls, and the slow whir of the player spinning the disc filled the quiet spaces between the guitar chords.

For a while, he didn’t move at all. He simply lay there, listening, as if the song understood something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Michael!” someone called out.

The voice cut through the music and the quiet of his room.

Mike sighed, opening his eyes slowly. The spell of the song broke as reality crept back in through the thin walls of the house.

“Michael!” the voice called again, louder this time, echoing faintly down the hallway.

He turned his head toward the door, the music still playing beside him, and wondered how long he could pretend he hadn’t heard it.

The door opened suddenly, catching Mike off guard.

“You’re going to be late for school,” his mom said from the doorway.

Mike rolled his eyes and sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His feet touched the cold floor, sending a small shiver up his spine as he pushed himself up.

“I’m up,” Mike muttered, running a hand through his messy hair.

His mom lingered for a moment, arms folded, as if making sure he actually meant it this time. The hallway light behind her spilled into the room, cutting a pale line across the floor.

“You said that ten minutes ago,” she replied.

Mike glanced back at the CD player, the song nearing the chorus, then over at the clock on his nightstand.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing a wrinkled hoodie from the chair beside his desk. “Well… now I actually mean it.”

Mike pulled the hoodie over his head and shuffled toward his desk. The CD player clicked softly as the song reached the chorus, Robert Smith’s voice filling the small room one last time.

His mom sighed from the doorway. “Michael, if you don’t get up on time again, I’m not waking you up.”

“I know, I know,” Mike said, already half-listening. He leaned over and pressed the stop button on the CD player. The music cut out with a soft click, leaving the room suddenly quiet.

For a moment he just stood there.

“Shoes. Backpack. Breakfast,” his mom reminded him, counting them off on her fingers like she had a thousand mornings before.

“I’ve got it,” Mike muttered.

She gave him one last look before stepping back into the hallway. “Five minutes.”

The door stayed open this time.

Mike grabbed his backpack from the floor and slung it over one shoulder. It was heavier than he remembered, stuffed with crumpled papers and a math book he was pretty sure he forgot to open last night. He glanced at the clock again.

7:42.

“Great,” he murmured.

As Mike went down the stairs, he was met by his sister sitting at the dining table.

“Jeez, you look a mess,” she said, eyeing his tangled hair and wrinkled hoodie.

“What’s it to you?” Mike replied.

Without stopping, he reached over and grabbed the piece of toast from her plate, taking a large bite as he walked past.

“Asshole!” she shouted.

“Language,” their father added calmly, not even lowering the newspaper he was reading.

The kitchen fell quiet for a second except for the faint rustling of paper as his father flipped the page.

Mike leaned against the counter, chewing slowly.

His sister glared at him. “That was my breakfast.”

“You’ll survive,” Mike said, shrugging.

She shoved her chair back slightly. “Mom!”

Their mother, standing at the counter pouring coffee, didn’t even turn around. “There’s more bread in the toaster.”

“That’s not the point,” his sister muttered.

Mike smirked a little and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl. “See? Problem solved.”

Mike slipped on his shoes by the door, barely tying the laces. His backpack hung from one shoulder, the single strap dangling loosely against his arm.

He pulled the door open and stepped outside without another word.

“Michael!” his mom called from the kitchen.

He paused on the porch but didn’t turn around.

“Are you not going to eat your breakfast?”

Mike shifted the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder.

“No time,” he called back. “I’m already late.”

“Besides, I have an apple.” He showed it off, as if it was enough to make him full.

There was a brief pause from inside the house.

“You said that yesterday too!” his sister’s voice shouted from somewhere near the dining table.

Mike rolled his eyes, though no one could see him, and stepped off the porch.

Mike wasted no time grabbing his bike from beside the garage.

He swung one leg over the seat and pushed off the pavement, the tires rolling smoothly down the driveway. The morning air was cool against his face as he pedaled onto the street, the quiet neighborhood just beginning to wake up.

He leaned forward slightly, picking up speed.

The houses passed in a blur of trimmed hedges, iron gates, and parked cars. A few sprinklers ticked across freshly cut lawns, and somewhere down the block a dog barked behind a fence.

Mike didn’t slow down.

The wind tugged at his hoodie as he cut through a corner and onto the wider road that led toward the school. Cars drifted past him every now and then, but he kept close to the side of the street, pedaling steadily.

It wasn’t a long ride.

Just long enough for the rush of air and the steady rhythm of the wheels to wake him up a little.

Soon the tall brick buildings of the school came into view beyond the trees and iron gates. A few students were already gathered near the entrance, some leaning against cars, others talking in small groups.

Mike rolled up to the bike rack and braked, the tires scraping lightly against the pavement.

It wasn’t until Mike hopped off his bike and started locking it to the rack that it hit him.

History homework.

“Shit!”

Completely forgotten.

He stared at the pavement for a second, thinking it over, then sighed.

“Fuck.”

But it wasn’t exactly a crisis.

Mike straightened up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. Being popular had its perks, and last-minute favors were one of them.

He scanned the courtyard until he spotted someone from his history class sitting on a low stone wall, flipping through a notebook.

Perfect.

Mike walked over, his expression shifting almost instantly. The casual confidence, the easy smile he knew people liked.

“Hey,” he said smoothly. “You finish the history assignment?”

The student looked up. “Yeah… why?”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck, giving a small, almost embarrassed laugh. “I was up late last night and totally blanked on it. Mind if I copy it real quick before class?”

There was a brief hesitation.

Mike leaned against the wall beside them, still smiling, looking relaxed like it was no big deal either way.

“Please? I’ll owe you one.”

The student sighed but handed over the notebook.

“Just give it back before the bell.”

“Of course,” Mike said quickly.

He sat down beside her, pulling a pen from his bag and flipping open his own notebook. His hand moved fast across the page, copying line after line without really reading any of it.

A couple minutes later, he closed the notebook and handed the other one back.

“Thanks,” Mike said, flashing another easy smile.

The bell rang in the distance.

The girl gave Mike a small smile as he handed the notebook back, one that lingered a little longer than necessary.

It was the kind of smile that made it obvious the interaction had just made her entire morning.

Mike barely seemed to notice.

He glanced toward the school doors where more students were starting to pour inside.

Honestly, it wasn’t surprising.

It was rare for Mike to acknowledge anyone outside his usual circle. Most days he stuck to his friends, the guys from the football team, and occasionally his football coach. Everyone else at school existed somewhere in the background—faces he recognized but names he never bothered to learn.

So when he actually stopped to talk to someone, even for something as simple as copying homework, people tended to remember it.

“See you in class,” the girl said quietly.

“Yeah,” Mike replied, already half turned away.

He gave a quick wave before walking off toward the building.

Behind him, the girl watched him disappear into the crowd of students, still holding her notebook against her chest.

For Mike, it was just another small favor.

For her, it was probably the most interesting thing that had happened all week.

As Will stepped out of his room, he swung his backpack over one shoulder, everything inside packed and organized neatly. From notebooks to pens and even the small USB drive he always carried.

“You’re up early today,” his mom noted from the kitchen counter, her mug of coffee steaming in her hands.

“Yeah,” Will said casually, looking at the clock on the wall.

7:14

He zipped the bag closed. “Don’t wanna be late, I’m signing up for the school paper.”

His mom raised an eyebrow. “The school paper? That sounds… ambitious.”

Will shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Better than yearbook. I actually get to write stuff people might actually read.”

He paused at the doorway, checking his reflection in the mirror for a second, then nodded. “I figure it’s better to do something I actually like, right?”

His mom smiled faintly. “Just don’t get yourself into trouble.”

Will adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped outside, the morning sun hitting his face.

Will grabbed a piece of toast from the kitchen counter, biting into it as he swung his backpack over one shoulder. He was already halfway out the door, the straps and the tidy notebooks peeking out.

“Going to school already? Want me to drive you?” his mom called after him, raising an eyebrow as she sipped her coffee.

“No need,” He replied instantly. “I’m riding today.”

She shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Alright, but be careful out there.”

“Always,” he called, pedaling off down the driveway.

The morning air hit him as soon as he pushed off, cool and crisp. Tires hummed against the pavement as he picked up speed, weaving smoothly past hedges and parked cars. The streets were quiet, except for the occasional chirp of birds and the distant sound of sprinklers ticking across freshly cut lawns.

—💥—

Ahead, the school came into view, its tall brick buildings rising above the trees lining the road. He tightened his grip on the handlebars, feeling the familiar mix of nerves and excitement as the gates grew closer.

Will parked his bike at the rack, looping the lock through the frame with careful, practiced movements. Once it clicked shut, he tugged it once to make sure it held before slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

The courtyard buzzed with students heading toward the building, voices overlapping and backpacks bumping as people passed by.

Will had just started toward the entrance when he spotted a familiar face near the steps.

“Jane!”

Jane turned at the sound of his voice, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Will,” she said, smiling. “You’re here early.”

He shrugged as he walked over. “Trying something new. Figured I’d beat the rush for once.”

“Nice shirt,” she said with a teasing grin. “Did you steal that from your brother again?”

Will glanced down at it. “Borrowed,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

They started walking toward the school doors together, falling into step with the flow of students.

“So,” Jane asked, nudging him lightly with her elbow, “what’s got you showing up this early? You’re usually sprinting in five seconds before the bell.”

Will adjusted his backpack strap. “I’m signing up for the school paper today.”

Jane’s eyebrows lifted. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thought I’d try writing for it this year.”

Jane smiled again, a little more impressed this time. “Look at you, being productive.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

They sat down on one of the benches outside the school building, their backpacks resting by their feet.

Jane kicked lightly at the pavement with the tip of her shoe while Will leaned back against the bench, absentmindedly fiddling with the zipper of his bag.

They talked for a few minutes, letting the time pass.

Then the bell rang, loud and sharp across the courtyard.

Will laughed quietly as they reached the front doors, the noise of the hallway spilling out toward them.

Down the hallway, a small wave of noise followed a group of boys pushing through the crowd.

At the center of it was Mike Wheeler.

He walked with the kind of casual confidence that made people automatically move a little out of the way. His backpack hung from one shoulder, hair still slightly messy from the morning ride.

Around him were the same guys he was almost always seen with. His teammates, his closest friends.

“I’m telling you,” Lucas said, tossing a crumpled paper ball toward a locker, “if coach puts Daniels in striker again, we’re losing.”

“He won’t,” Mike replied easily. “Daniels trips over the ball half the time.”

The group laughed.

“Yeah, but you still passed to him last game,” Dustin added.

Mike shrugged. “That was strategy.”

“That was pity.”

More laughter.

As they moved down the hall, people noticed. Some nodded at them, some whispered to their friends, and a few girls standing by the lockers straightened up as they passed.

It wasn’t subtle.

Mike and his friends were the kind of guys everyone knew. Loud, confident, always in the middle of something. And they were very aware of the attention they got.

One of Mike’s friends elbowed him slightly and nodded toward a group of girls watching them walk by.

“Fan club’s out early today.”

Mike looked at him but didn’t slow down.

“Couldn’t care less.” he said casually.

The hallway buzzed around them as they kept walking, still joking about the last game, practice later that afternoon, and whatever stupid thing someone had done over the weekend.

For most people in the hallway, they were the center of attention.

And they knew it.

Jane subtly nodded her head down the hallway.

Will followed her gaze.

Mike and his group were coming through the crowd, loud and easy to spot, laughing about something as they walked. People shifted around them without even thinking about it.

Jane crossed her arms. “They act like they own the place.”

Will shrugged lightly, still amused. “Maybe they kind of do.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Please.”

Will laughed again, then glanced back toward the hallway they were heading down.

“Come on,” he said. “If we stand here any longer, we’re gonna get stuck in the traffic.”

Jane sighed dramatically but followed him anyway, the two of them slipping back into the flow of students moving toward their first class.

Jane and Will stopped between two lockers as the crowd funneled toward different hallways. Will shifted his backpack around to the front, rummaging through it.

“Wait, before you go,” he said, glancing up. “What’s your first class?”

Jane groaned instantly. “Math.”

Will winced in sympathy. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s first period math,” she said dramatically. “There is literally nothing worse.”

Will chuckled, still digging through his bag. “I’ve got Spanish.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “You? Speaking Spanish?”

He laughed again and zipped his bag.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you later?”

Jane nodded, already stepping backward into the stream of students. “Yeah. get through Spanish first.”

“You get through math.”

“Not likely,” she muttered, turning down the hallway.

“See you,” Will called after her.

The hallway slowly emptied as the bell loomed closer. Lockers slammed shut one by one, and the noise faded into scattered conversations and the echo of footsteps disappearing into classrooms.

Only a few students still lingered.

Down the hall, Mike Wheeler and most of his group had already peeled off toward their classes. The only ones left were Mike, Lucas, and Dustin, still talking near a row of lockers like they had nowhere urgent to be.

Will barely noticed.

He was too busy digging through his backpack again.

“Where is it…” he muttered quietly, pushing aside a notebook and a pencil case. Somewhere behind him, bits of conversation floated through the nearly empty hallway. Laughter, someone complaining about a teacher, Dustin saying something animated about a game or movie.

Will kept searching, unaware that he was only a few lockers away from the most well-known group in school.

“Where’s my other…” Will muttered under his breath.

He froze for a second, the realization hitting him all at once.

His other sketchbook, the one he never showed anyone, was still sitting in his locker.

“Great,” he whispered.

He was already close to being late for class, but there was no way he was going the whole day without it.

“Shit.”

Will zipped his backpack shut and started walking quickly down the hallway, weaving through the few students still lingering before the bell.

His pace picked up.

He kept his head down, focused on getting to his locker as fast as possible, barely paying attention to the people around him.

That’s when it happened.

His shoulder slammed into someone else’s.

The impact made Mike Wheeler drop the soccer jersey he’d been holding.

“Oh—shit, sorry.” Will mumbled quickly, already half turning away.

Mike bent down, picking the jersey up from the floor. He shook it once before glancing up at the guy who’d run into him.

“It’s fine.”

Will looked at him for a split second.

A strange look crossed his face, something between surprise and pure panic.

See, Will knew exactly who he’d just bumped into.

And in that moment, his brain completely short-circuited.

Unfortunately, he didn’t realize the expression currently stuck on his face.

Before Mike could even say anything else, Will turned and hurried off down the hallway toward his locker.

Mike watched him walk away, eyebrows knitting slightly in confusion.

“Dude… what the hell was that?” Lucas asked, glancing between Mike and the retreating figure.

“What?” Mike said, genuinely confused.

Dustin adjusted his backpack and leaned slightly forward, still watching Will disappear around the corner.

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Dustin said. “Like he just ran into the worst person in school… or a serial killer. I’m not sure which one.”

Mike frowned. “No he didn’t.”

Lucas let out a short laugh. “Yeah, he did.”

Mike shrugged, already losing interest.

“Whatever.”

Dustin exchanged a look with Lucas.

“Okay,” Dustin said, lifting his hands. “Whatever you say, dude.”

“I’m heading to my first class,” Mike said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“You’re not skipping?” Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not today,” Mike replied, shaking his head. “I’ve got to pass Spanish, or I’m out of soccer.”

“Damn,” Dustin said, smirking. “Good luck with that.”

Mike gave a small shrug and started walking down the hallway toward his first class. Spanish.

The hallways were starting to clear as most students filed into their classrooms, leaving just a few stragglers and the distant murmur of conversations bouncing off the walls.

Mike kept his pace steady, focused, and calm.

Will sat at the back of the classroom, quiet and mostly keeping to himself, though he couldn’t help noticing a few curious glances from the students around him.

He shifted in his seat, frustrated. He hadn’t been able to grab his sketchbook from his locker because he was about to be late for Spanish.

“You’re a minute late, Wheeler.” The teacher’s voice cut across the room just as Mike walked in, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Mike raised his hands in mock surrender, and the soft laughter of the class rippled through the room.

Will flinched at the mention of Mike’s name, his chest tightening as the memory of their shoulder collision flashed in his mind.

Shit… he murmured quietly, hoping no one else noticed.

Mike scanned the classroom for a seat, eyes moving across the rows.

And unfortunately for Will, the only empty chair was right next to him.

Mike didn’t even glance at Will, he simply walked over and dropped into the seat beside him, slinging his backpack under the desk.

Will’s heart thumped against his ribs like a drum, gripping the edge of his desk to stop from fidgeting. He tried to keep his voice low. “Seriously?”

Mike caught the muttered words, sharp and knowing, but he didn’t say a thing. Instead, he focused on opening his notebook and tuning out the rest of the room.

Not worth my time, he thought, already dismissing the nervous boy next to him.

Will tried to calm his racing heart, pretending to take notes as Mike leaned back, completely indifferent to his presence.

The rest of the class passed in a blur of conjugations and vocabulary drills, the tension between them silent but tangible.

Will pulled out a scrap of paper and his tangled wired earphones, trying to calm himself down.

A soft, distorted guitar riff filled his ears as “Smells Like Teen Spirit” by Nirvana started playing. He leaned over the paper, pencil moving steadily across the page, lines forming shapes and shadows, his dragon slowly coming to life.

The teacher droned on at the front of the room, occasionally pausing to call on students, while whispers and shuffling filled the gaps.

Mike, meanwhile, was bored. Really, painfully bored.

He tried a bunch of things to pass the time. Doodling, making tiny origami shapes, even zoning out, but nothing stuck. Every attempt was a failure.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him. Mike glanced sideways at Will, who was completely absorbed in his own world.

The faint distortion of Nirvana’s guitar riff drifted from Will’s earphones, just loud enough for Mike to hear over the hum of the classroom.

Mike glanced at the dragon, tracing the pencil lines with his eyes. The shading, the detail, it was impressive.

Really fucking impressive.

He thought the boy next to him was cool, no denying it. The music, the focus, the talent, it all added up.

But then he shrugged slightly and leaned back in his chair.

Cool. Sure, he thought.

But not my business.

Mike shifted his gaze back to the front of the classroom, letting the faint Nirvana riff fade into the background. He still had Spanish to survive, and failing that meant no soccer, which was way more important than some random boy’s sketchbook.

So he didn’t say a word. He didn’t ask questions.

He just watched a little from the corner of his eye, enough to admire silently, while keeping his world firmly his own.

Will remained oblivious, lost in his drawing, headphones cocooning him in his own private little world.

For now, they existed in the same space, close enough to notice each other, yet miles apart in everything else.

—💥—

As time passed, the teacher’s voice eventually slowed to a stop.

“Alright,” she said, handing out sheets of paper to the front rows. “This is your homework. Conjugate the verbs and translate the paragraph at the bottom. It’s due tomorrow.”

Groans spread across the classroom.

Papers shuffled from desk to desk until everyone had one. The bell rang a moment later, and chairs scraped loudly against the floor as students packed up.

Groups of friends filtered out into the hallway, already talking over each other.

Will carefully pulled out his earphones and wrapped them around his phone before slipping them into his pocket. He folded the paper with his dragon drawing and slid it neatly into his backpack, making sure it wouldn’t crease.

By the time he zipped his bag shut, he’d completely forgotten about the boy sitting next to him.

Mike Wheeler.

Well, almost.

Mike had fallen asleep halfway through the lesson, his head resting on his folded arms like the class had personally offended him.

Not exactly surprising.

Will stood up, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, ready to leave with the rest of the students.

“Will,” the teacher said gently.

He paused and turned around.

She nodded toward Mike, still very much asleep at his desk.

Since Will was the only student left nearby, the meaning was pretty clear.

Wake him up.

Will stared at Mike for a second.

“…Seriously?” he murmured under his breath.

The teacher raised an eyebrow.

Will’s stomach twisted into knots as he stood there beside Mike’s desk.

Okay… okay, he told himself. What if he talks shit about me to his friends after this?

Worse, what if he beats me up?

Will swallowed.

No, Will. You can do this. He’s just another annoying athletic teenage boy that you have to wake up from sleep. Easy.

Except… it wasn’t easy at all.

The embarrassment from earlier, the shoulder bump, the weird look he’d accidentally made, came rushing back and settled in his chest like a weight.

He hesitated, staring at Mike for a moment.

Then he reached out and tapped Mike’s shoulder softly.

Mike shifted suddenly.

Will flinched like he’d been shocked.

That was enough for him.

Before Mike could even fully wake up, Will grabbed his bag and hurried toward the door, his footsteps quick and uneven.

Behind him, the teacher watched the whole thing, one eyebrow slowly raising.

Will glanced back once before stepping into the hallway.

“Uh—thank you, miss!” he said nervously, his voice slightly too loud as he pushed the door open and slipped out into the hall.

The door shut behind him.

Back in the classroom, Mike groaned quietly, still half asleep, barely realizing what had just happened.

The teacher pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose, right between her eyebrows, clearly running out of patience.

She walked over to Mike’s desk, picked up his bag from the floor, and tapped his shoulder again, this time much less gently.

“Wheeler,” she said flatly. “Get out of my classroom. I have another class to teach.”

Mike groaned softly and finally lifted his head.

He rubbed his eyes, stretching like he had all the time in the world.

“Now,” the teacher added, her tone sharper.

“Jeez, okay,” Mike muttered under his breath.

He stood up slowly, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder before heading toward the door.

The classroom door shut behind him with a soft click.

Out in the hallway, Lucas and Dustin were leaning against a row of lockers like they’d been waiting.

Lucas spotted him first.

“Well, good morning,” he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

Dustin pushed himself off the lockers. “How was the nap?” he asked, like the answer was already obvious.

Mike rolled his eyes but couldn’t quite hide the smirk creeping onto his face.

“Oh, shut up.”

Lucas laughed. “Man, you didn’t even make it through first period.”

“Spanish is basically a sleep aid,” Mike said, adjusting the strap of his bag.

Dustin snorted. “You know you’re gonna fail that class, right?”

Mike shrugged like it didn’t matter.

“Not if I wake up next time.”

Lucas nudged him as they started walking down the hallway together.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s a big if.”

“Surprised your seatmate didn’t wake you up this time,” Dustin said as they started walking down the hallway.

“Yeah,” Lucas added, nudging Mike lightly. “Usually someone’s jumping at the chance to save you.”

Dustin grinned. “I think this is the universe telling you to be responsible for once.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Mike replied, rolling his eyes.

But the comment stuck with him.

Why didn’t he wake me up?

Usually if Mike fell asleep in class, someone nearby would tap his desk, poke his shoulder, or say something. Mostly because it gave them an excuse to talk to him.

But the guy sitting next to him hadn’t done that.

Mike tried to remember who it even was.

Oh yeah.

The boy who had bumped into him earlier in the hallway.

The nervous one.

Mike walked with Lucas and Dustin, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets as he thought about it.

Why didn’t he wake me up?

He shrugged slightly.

Doesn’t matter.

By the time they reached the next hallway, the thought had already started fading from his mind.

“What’s your next class?” Lucas asked, leaning back against the row of lockers as students pushed past them in the crowded hallway. “I have history.”

“History,” Mike replied with a long, miserable groan, dragging the word out like it physically hurt to say it.

“Ha!” Dustin jumped in before Mike could answer, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You haven’t heard? The new teacher is supposed to be the worst.”

Mike stopped halfway through pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. “Wait, there’s a new teacher?” he asked, already sounding exhausted by the idea.

“Yep,” Dustin said, nodding dramatically. “Some student teacher they brought in to cover for Mrs. Smith.”

Lucas smirked, clearly enjoying the gossip. “Yeah, until she’s done being pregnant with the P.E coach’s baby.”

Dustin let out a loud snort of laughter. “Seriously! The whole school knows about it.”

Mike wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gross,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“What? It’s true!” Dustin protested, holding up his hands defensively.

Lucas and Dustin exchanged amused looks before both of them burst out laughing, while Mike just sighed, already dreading the next hour of his day.

Mike and Lucas split off from Dustin at the end of the hallway, heading toward their next class while Dustin turned in the opposite direction for his own.

The halls were still crowded with students rushing to get to class before the bell rang, lockers slamming and voices echoing through the building. Mike walked with his backpack slung lazily over one shoulder, still dreading the history class waiting for him.

“Maybe the new teacher won’t be that bad,” Lucas said casually as they turned the corner toward the history room.

Mike gave him a look. “You don’t even believe that.”

Lucas shrugged.

When they reached the classroom, they noticed they were early. Only a few students had arrived so far, leaving plenty of empty desks scattered around the room.

Mike headed straight for the back like he usually did, dropping into a chair with a quiet thud. Lucas pulled out the chair next to him and sat down as well, stretching his legs out under the desk.

Rows of empty chairs surrounded them, the quiet classroom a big contrast to the noisy hallway outside.

Mike leaned back slightly in his seat. “Great,” he muttered. “Now we just wait for the worst teacher in the world to show up.”

Lucas smirked a little, glancing toward the classroom door. “This should be interesting.”

As Mike and Lucas chatted quietly to pass the time, the classroom door creaked open.

Just as they had expected, in walked the new teacher: young, sharp, and radiating that kind of strictness that made you feel she thought she was automatically superior just because she was older. Her heels clicked against the linoleum floor as she scanned the room, eyes sharp and calculating.

She had arrived before the students, clearly planning to assert authority from the very start. Mike and Lucas exchanged a glance, silently agreeing she looked like trouble.

Her first target was obvious: Will.

Will hesitated at the doorway, backpack in hand, smiling nervously. “Oh—good morning, Mis—”

Before he could finish, the teacher cut him off, her tone sharp and cold. “You’re late. Name?”

“Dude,” Lucas said, leaning back slightly in his chair and snorting, “it’s the one you’ve got beef with.”

Mike rolled his eyes, trying, and failing, to hide a grin. “We don’t even have any beef,” he muttered, but a laugh threatened to escape as he watched Will squirm under the teacher’s intense gaze at the front of the room.

Lucas nudged him with an elbow. “Yeah, yeah… but this is perfect. You’re gonna enjoy this.”

Mike groaned quietly, ducking his head slightly to avoid drawing attention. Inside, though, he couldn’t help but chuckle at how flustered Will looked. The strict teacher clearly had no idea she’d just stepped into a classroom full of amused bystanders.

The teacher’s eyes scanned Will up and down, giving him no chance to speak. Will shifted nervously, clutching his backpack like a lifeline.

Finally, her gaze drifted to the stack of papers on her desk. “I forgot these in my office,” she muttered to herself, clearly irritated.

She turned back to Will. “Bring these to my office… down the hall, take a left at the vending machines, past the trophy case, and don’t drop a single one.”

She shoved the stack into his arms. Will flinched slightly under the weight, his arms trembling as he struggled to hold it all together.

The teacher let out an exasperated sigh, spinning her eyes toward the class as if searching for her next victim. Unfortunately for Will, her finger came to a stop pointing directly at Mike.

“You,” she said sharply, “help him bring these to my office. I’ve already given him the directions.”

Mike froze mid-chew on a pencil, staring blankly at her. “What?” he replied, not really listening.

Lucas leaned over, nudging him and whispering with barely-contained laughter, “Dude… she’s calling you.”

Mike’s eyes widened as he finally realized what was happening. “Wait… me? Seriously?”

“Did I stutter?” the teacher said, her tone sharp and cutting through the chatter.

Mike sighed and scoffed under his breath, standing up reluctantly. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about being called out, but he also didn’t want to risk failing another class. With a roll of his eyes, he got to his feet and walked over to Will.

Reaching the shorter boy, Mike grabbed the top half of the stack of papers Will was struggling with. To his surprise, it wasn’t nearly as heavy as he expected. Being athletic, he was used to carrying more without breaking a sweat.

Will let out a sigh, trying to avoid eye contact with the boy in front of him.

Around them, a few students exchanged amused glances. Finally, the two “stars” of the school, Mike, effortlessly athletic and popular, and Will, quieter but sharp, were forced into a shared moment.

Well… maybe “forced” was the right word. “Getting to know each other” sounded a bit too optimistic given the circumstances, but the classroom buzzed quietly with anticipation anyway.

“Uh—” Mike started, hesitating as he glanced at the stack of papers in his arms.

“What are you waiting for? Leave,” the teacher snapped, her eyes drilling into him.

“Right,” Will muttered, trying to steady himself, and immediately started walking out of the classroom. Mike followed, falling into step behind him.

Back in the classroom, the other students couldn’t take their eyes off the pair. Clearly, Mike and Will were about to become the next hot topic around school, whether they liked it or not.

A few moments of silence stretched between them as they walked down the hall. It wasn’t exactly awkward at first, until the quiet started to press in.

“I didn’t need any help,” Will mumbled, his cheeks reddening as he tried to fight off the lingering embarrassment from earlier.

Mike smirked slightly, shrugging as he glanced down at the papers he was carrying. “Yeah, sure.” he said, teasing just enough to break the tension, though the silence lingered around them like a thick fog.

“I’m serious,” Will snapped, his voice low but firm. He didn’t want to be seen as weak, he wasn’t weak. Not by anyone, and certainly not in front of the most popular boy in school. “And I don’t need you laughing at me either.”

Mike looked down at him, tilting his head with a mock-serious expression, and let out a fake laugh. “What? I wasn’t laughing at you earlier.” (Sure you weren’t!)

Will’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid.”

Mike rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Whatever,” he muttered.

He shrugged internally, reminding himself it wasn’t his problem, and that this was just another boring task to get through.

He carried the papers with effortless ease, glancing at Will only occasionally, partly out of curiosity, partly because he was bored. Deep down, he might have found him interesting, but he wasn’t about to admit it, not even to himself.

Hell, he didn’t even know his name.

For now, it was just another hallway, another assignment, and another awkward, quiet walk that somehow felt longer than it should.

A few minutes of silence stretched between them, the kind of quiet that made the hallway feel longer than it was. Mike, knowing his curiosity, finally broke it, his tone casual.

“So… what’s your name?” he asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Will froze, then glared sideways at him. “What?” he muttered, clearly hearing the question but not exactly eager to answer.

Mike chuckled under his breath. “C’mon, I’m helping you lug these papers, you owe me at least that much.”

Will crossed his arms, hugging the stack a little closer. “I don’t owe you anything,” he said, his voice firm, though there was a hint of reluctant curiosity behind it.

Mike shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah, yeah… whatever. I’m just trying to make small talk before we both keel over under this mountain of shit.”

“Why do you even want to talk to me?” Will asked suddenly, breaking the silence again.

Mike glanced at him, confused for a second “What?”

“You don’t even know me,” Will continued, shifting the stack of papers in his arms. His voice had that guarded edge again. “Besides, aren’t you too popular to talk to me?” He replied sarcastically.

Mike let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. Didn’t know I had a reputation like that.”

Will didn’t look amused.

Mike sighed and adjusted the papers he was carrying. “I just asked your name. It’s not that deep.”

Will shrugged a little, clearly unconvinced.

Mike glanced at him again, a small smirk forming. “What? You act like we’ve been enemies for years or something.”

Will scoffed quietly at that but didn’t answer right away.

Mike tilted his head slightly, still curious. “So, are you gonna tell me your name, or are you going to be mysterious forever?”

Will snorted quietly, the sound slipping out before he could stop it. It immediately caught Mike’s attention.

“Say please,” Will replied.

Mike raised an eyebrow at that, surprised by the sudden confidence. Before he could respond, Will pushed open the door to the office with his shoulder, carefully balancing the stack of papers in his arms.

Mike blinked, only now realizing they had already reached the office. The walk had gone by faster than he expected.

The moment the thought hit him, that they’d have to go straight back to history class. Mike groaned under his breath.

Will glanced at him briefly, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And at that moment, Will had completely forgotten about the embarrassing scene from earlier.

Somehow, the awkward walk down the hallway and the stupid stack of papers had distracted him from it.

Instead of replaying the moment in his head like he usually would, he was thinking about something else entirely.

Mostly about the fact that Mike Wheeler, of all people, was standing right next to him, holding half the papers and complaining about going back to class.

Mike and Will continued sorting through the scattered papers on the desk, carefully straightening the crooked piles and aligning the edges as if the small task could somehow calm the strange tension in the room.

The soft rustle of paper was the only sound between them. Mike gathered the stack he had been holding and placed it neatly on top of the larger pile on the table, pressing it down lightly so it wouldn’t slide.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

They looked at each other, both caught in the same quiet pause that seemed to stretch longer than it really was. The room felt oddly still, like it was waiting for one of them to say something.

Will finally cleared his throat, shifting his weight a little as he broke the silence.

“Let’s, uh— get back to class now,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Mike blinked, as if snapping out of his thoughts. “Oh— right. Uh— yeah,” he replied quickly.

Mike turned first and headed toward the door, his footsteps light against the floor. Will lingered for half a second before following behind him.

As they stepped out into the hallway, Will reached back and gently pushed the door closed.

It shut with a soft, quiet click.

The walk down the hallway was killing Will.

The silence between them felt heavy, stretching out with every step they took. Their footsteps echoed faintly against the floor, the only sound in the empty corridor. It was the kind of quiet that made everything feel more awkward than it probably should have been, and Will could feel the tension sitting uncomfortably in his chest.

He kept waiting for Mike to say something, anything.

But it didn’t seem like Mike was going to break the silence anytime soon.

Will pressed his lips together, trying his best to keep his mouth shut. The urge to say something just to fill the quiet tugged at him, but he forced himself to resist it. Instead, he stared blankly at the floor as they walked, watching the pattern of the tiles pass beneath their feet.

Mike, on the other hand, seemed far less bothered by the silence.

He glanced over at Will for a brief moment, noticing how he kept his eyes fixed on the floor, his shoulders slightly tense as they walked. It was obvious something was on Will’s mind.

Mike noticed it.

He still wanted to know his name,

But he just didn’t care enough to ask.

Not because he meant to be cold, but because it didn’t feel important enough to turn into a whole conversation. Whatever it was, Mike figured Will would say something eventually if he really wanted to.

So Mike simply looked forward again and kept walking, letting the quiet stretch between them as the classroom drew closer.

Finally, to Will’s relief, they reached the classroom.

Mike pushed the door open and stepped inside first. The moment he did, the quiet chatter in the room shifted as a few students looked up, their attention briefly pulled toward the doorway.

Will was right behind him, already preparing to slip in unnoticed.

But then, to his surprise, Mike paused and held the door open.

Will blinked, caught off guard by the small gesture. It felt strangely deliberate, even though Mike didn’t say anything or look back.

Inside the classroom, a few students exchanged glances. Someone near the back leaned toward their friend and whispered something under their breath. The low murmurs spread quietly across the room, subtle but noticeable.

His ears burned slightly as he stepped inside, trying not to look at anyone. “Thanks,” he mumbled quietly as he passed Mike, the word barely louder than a breath.

He walked quickly to his seat, keeping his head down as he slid into his chair.

Behind him, Mike let the door swing shut with a soft thud once Will was fully inside. Then, without giving the moment a second thought, he walked across the room and dropped into the chair next to Lucas like it was the most normal, casual thing in the world.

Lucas let out a quiet whistle under his breath as Mike sat down beside him.

“Alright, dude,” Lucas muttered, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I see you.”

Mike looked over at him, confused. “What?”

Lucas quickly straightened up, trying, and failing, to hide the amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he replied casually, shrugging like it wasn’t worth explaining.

Mike narrowed his eyes at him for a second, but didn’t press it.

Instead, he leaned back in his chair and let his gaze wander around the classroom. A few students were still looking toward the front of the room, whispering quietly to each other. Some glanced between him and Will before quickly looking away again when they realized he might notice.

Mike did notice.

He just didn’t care.

Whatever they thought they saw, whatever they were whispering about, it didn’t seem important enough for him to waste energy on. So he simply looked away, rested back in his chair, and waited for class to end like it was any other normal day.

But Will,

Will was bothered.

For the first time in his life, the murmurs and quiet whispers around the classroom made his stomach twist. Normally, he was used to it. It had been happening all year.

people glancing at him, whispering behind their hands, sharing looks he couldn’t quite read. Most of the time he ignored it. He had learned how to tune it out, to pretend it wasn’t there.

But this time it felt different.

This time it felt like every quiet voice in the room was somehow about him.

Will sat stiffly in his chair, staring down at his desk while the low chatter buzzed softly around the room. His fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the table as he tried to focus on anything else.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought.

He swallowed and shifted in his seat, forcing himself to breathe slowly.

No, he corrected himself quickly.

This is just a phase. This is just something that you go through every once in a while and just forget a few minutes after.

The thought came almost automatically, like something he’d told himself before.

Yeah. Just a phase, he repeated in his head, trying to clear his mind and push the uneasy feeling away.

But even as he told himself that, the whispers around the room didn’t seem to fade. And somehow, they felt louder than they ever had before.

The teacher continued to ramble at the front of the classroom, going on and on about something that barely had anything to do with the actual topic.

Her voice blended into the dull hum of the fluorescent lights above, turning into background noise for most of the students.

Mike barely looked up from his notebook. Instead of notes, the pages were filled with random scribbles, circles, arrows, and half-finished sketches.

Beside him, Lucas leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice so the teacher wouldn’t notice.

“Hey,” Lucas whispered to Mike. “Are you going to soccer practice later?”

Mike didn’t look up right away. He just nodded slightly, making a quiet sound of agreement.

“Mhm.”

Lucas smirked a little. “Good. Coach was already complaining last time when people skipped.”

Mike finally glanced over at him. “I didn’t skip. I just… forgot.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow. “You forgot you’re on the team?”

Mike shrugged, tapping his pencil against the notebook. “It happens.”

Lucas shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, well don’t forget today. Coach is making us run laps if we’re late.”

Mike sighed quietly. “Laps? Very scary, Lucas.” He nodded as he spoke.

Lucas rolled his eyes as he chuckled.

A few minutes later, bell rang. And almost instantly every student in the class pushed their chairs back and stood up, ready to leave.

“Hey,” the teacher called out sharply.

The room froze.

“The bell doesn’t dismiss you,” she said, folding her arms with a satisfied look. “I do.”

A loud chorus of groans filled the classroom. A few students dropped back into their seats dramatically, clearly annoyed.

Mike was one of them.

He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

But across the room, Will sat calmly at his desk, still flipping through his notebook like nothing had happened.

Mike frowned slightly and leaned closer to Lucas.

“Why does he look so calm?” Mike whispered. “Everyone’s annoyed and he’s just… fine with it.”

Lucas glanced over at Will and shrugged.

“Dunno.” He said. “He’s literally the smartest kid in the school. What do you expect?”

Mike blinked, looking back at Will again.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “That’s Will? Will Byers?”

Lucas slowly turned to stare at him.

“Yes?” he said. “Dude, have you been living under a rock or something?”

Mike shrugged awkwardly.

“I mean, I knew who he was,” he admitted. “I just… didn’t really know what he looked like.”

Lucas shook his head, clearly disappointed.

“Unbelievable.” He scoffed. “Unbelievable, dude.”

Mike found himself looking at Will like he was trying to figure something out.

Across the room, Will must’ve felt it, because he glanced up.

Their eyes met for a split second.

Mike immediately looked away, suddenly very interested in the corner of his notebook. He tapped his pencil against the page like he had something important to think about, even though his mind had completely gone blank.

“Shit.” He muttered to himself.

—💥—

The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly after history class, mostly because Mike didn’t have any other classes with Will.

Eventually his mind moved on to other things. Homework, lunch, and trying not to fall asleep during math.

Before long, the final bell rang.

Students poured out into the hallways, grabbing backpacks and heading for the exits.

Unfortunately for Mike, he wasn’t going home yet.

He had soccer practice.

What a bummer.

As he walked toward the field with Lucas and Dustin, Mike let out an exaggerated, dramatic groan that echoed across the pavement.

“Dude,” he said, putting a hand on his chest. “You scared me. I thought you were having a stroke or something.”

“Shut up,” Mike muttered, clearly not in the mood.

Lucas laughed as they kept walking.

The three of them headed into the boys’ locker room. The room smelled faintly like grass, sweat, and cheap deodorant. Metal lockers slammed open and shut as other players changed.

Mike opened his locker and pulled out his jersey. The name “Wheeler” was printed across the back above the number 07.

He quickly changed, pulling the jersey over his head and tying his cleats while Dustin struggled with one of his shin guards.

“Why are these things so tight?” Dustin complained.

“So they don’t fall off,” Lucas said. “That’s kind of the point.”

Once they were all dressed, they tossed their clothes into their lockers and headed out to the field with the rest of the team.

The coach was already standing there with a whistle around his neck.

“Alright, warm-up laps!” he shouted.

The team groaned but started jogging around the field. Mike ran beside Lucas while Dustin lagged slightly behind them.

After the laps, they moved into stretches, hamstrings, quads, ankle rolls, before the coach started passing drills.

Players lined up in two rows, kicking the ball back and forth, practicing quick passes and controlling the ball without letting it bounce too far.

“Wheeler, faster feet!” the coach called.

Mike trapped the ball with his foot and passed it quickly to Lucas.

Then came dribbling drills. Cones were set up across the grass, and the team had to weave the ball between them as fast as possible without losing control.

Lucas finished smoothly.

Dustin accidentally kicked the ball way too far and had to chase after it.

“Not the goal, Henderson!” the coach shouted.

“It slipped!” Dustin yelled back.

Next was shooting practice. One by one, the players took turns running up and kicking the ball toward the goal while the goalie tried to block it.

Mike stepped up, ran forward, and kicked the ball hard.

It flew straight into the net.

Lucas nodded. “Nice one.”

Mike shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, even though he was a little proud of it.

More drills followed, and practice seemed to stretch on forever.

The coach had them split into two small teams for scrimmage. Sneakers tore across the grass as everyone sprinted up and down the field, shouting for passes.

“Lucas, left!” Mike called.

Lucas kicked the ball across the field. Mike caught it with the side of his foot and tried to push past one of the defenders, but someone stole it and sent it flying the other way.

“Come on, Wheeler!” the coach shouted from the sidelines. “Hustle!”

They kept running, passing, blocking, and shooting. Dustin tripped over the ball at one point and landed flat on the grass.

“I meant to do that,” he said from the ground.

Lucas laughed as he ran past him.

After the scrimmage, the coach made them run one last set of sprints across the field.

“Baseline and back! Move!”

By the time practice finally ended, every single one of them was practically dripping with sweat.

“Alright,” the coach said, blowing his whistle. “That’s it for today. Good work.”

The team slowly dragged themselves back to the locker room.

Inside, everyone immediately started changing. Lockers clanged open while people grabbed towels and water bottles.

Mike pulled his sweaty jersey over his head and made a face.

“Lucas,” he said, holding it out. “Hold this for a second.”

“Why me?” Lucas asked.

“Just hold it.”

Lucas sighed and took the jersey while he grabbed his own clothes. Since he was about to change too, he quickly shoved Mike’s jersey into his bag so he wouldn’t have to carry it.

A few minutes later, the three of them were dressed again and heading out of the locker room.

They walked their bikes toward the school exit.

Outside, the sun was already starting to dip lower in the sky.

“See you guys tomorrow,” Dustin said as he hopped onto his bike.

They started riding down the street together until they reached the point where they usually split off.

Lucas suddenly stopped pedaling.

“Oh—shit,” he said. “I think I forgot something back there.”

Mike slowed down slightly.

“Like what?”

“My bag,” Lucas said, groaning. “You guys go. I’ll grab it and catch up later.”

“Alright,” Dustin said.

Mike and Dustin rode off toward their houses while Lucas turned around and biked back to the school.

A few minutes later, he pushed open the locker room door again.

It was quiet now. Most of the team had already left.

Lucas walked over and grabbed his bag from the bench where he had left it. As he slung it over his shoulder, he remembered something and opened it.

Inside was Mike’s jersey.

Still sweaty.

Lucas made a face.

“Yeah… I’m not taking that home,” he muttered.

He figured he could just shove it into Mike’s locker.

The only problem was he couldn’t remember the number.

Lucas pulled out his BlackBerry and tried texting Mike.

whats ur locker number

He waited a few seconds.

No response.

“Of course,” Lucas sighed.

He walked over to the row of lockers and tried to remember where Mike usually stood when grabbing his stuff.

After a moment, he spotted locker number 7.

Lucas nodded slowly.

“Pretty sure that’s it,” he said to himself. “He’s always standing around here.”

He looked at the number again.

“And his jersey number’s seven too, ironic.”

Lucas shook his head.

“He really loves the number seven.” He mumbled.

With that, he shoved the jersey through the small crack in the locker door and closed it again before heading out.

Lucas stepped back from the lockers and clapped his hands once.

“Perfect,” he said to himself.

He rubbed his hands together proudly, like he had just solved a very complicated problem.

Satisfied with his work, Lucas grabbed his bike from the rack outside the school and rode off toward home, the evening air cooling the sweat that still clung to his hair.

Problem solved.

Or at least he thought it was.

Because locker number 7 didn’t belong to Mike Wheeler.

It belonged to Will Byers.