Chapter Text
The bus came to a stop with a quiet hiss, and the doors folded open.
Will lingered for a second, staring through the grimy glass at the familiar sign of the stop.
Hawkins.
Three years ago, he had dreamed of getting as far away from this place as possible.
And he did.
But now he was coming back.
Ironic.
After pulling a large suitcase from the luggage compartment, Will stepped off the bus and inhaled deeply. The air smelled like freshly cut grass, dust, and morning dew—so familiar it almost hurt. Compared to New York, where even early mornings carried the scent of exhaust fumes and fried onions from street carts, the air here felt almost sterile.
And quiet.
New York was never quiet. Even at night there were humming air conditioners, honking cars, drunk voices echoing down the streets.
Here, he could hear the leaves rustling.
Bliss.
Memories crashed over him all at once—sharp and sudden, like a wave. A familiar chill ran down the back of his neck, and his heart skipped a beat.
This was where they had said goodbye to Lucas and Max when they boarded the bus to California. Will remembered the way Max had turned back one last time before stepping inside, lifting her hand in a small wave. Her palm had been trembling, even though she tried to act like everything was fine.
Not far from here there had been another stop—the one they used during those summer vacations when they rode the bus to Starcourt Mall. Back then everything had been simple: take the bus, get there, spend the last of their pocket money on pizza and new comic books.
Will let out a quiet laugh as he remembered how Steve Harrington had worked at that very mall—selling ice cream in that ridiculous sailor uniform that looked absolutely terrible on him, pretending he wasn’t embarrassed.
Steve had also snuck them into the movie theater through the staff entrance whenever they didn’t have money for tickets.
“Just don’t tell anyone,” he’d whisper, glancing over his shoulder. “I’ll get fired as hell.”
And they never told.
It was their little secret.
Back then, none of them knew those simple days would become memories that hurt to think about years later.
For a second, Will thought that if he turned his head he might see one of his old friends standing nearby.
But the parking lot was almost empty.
Not surprising—he hadn’t told anyone exactly when he’d arrive. He’d only mentioned to his mom during a call that he’d be back today. He didn’t want to cause a fuss or make anyone go out of their way for him.
As he walked through the familiar streets, memories he hadn’t touched in years began to surface again.
They had learned to ride their bikes next to that tree. Dustin had been the worst at it, and Mike and Lucas had held the back of his bike until they decided he was good enough—and let go.
Right on the hill.
Needless to say, Dustin shot forward at full speed. He hadn’t exactly mastered braking yet, so he ended up crashing straight into their neighbor Mrs. Smith’s fence.
For a long time afterward, whenever they passed her house, they would speed up to a run.
Even now, as Will walked past that same fence, he couldn’t stop himself from picking up his pace just a little.
They used to steal apples from Mr. Davis’s garden, too. The boys would get in serious trouble whenever he told their parents about it. The adults never understood what the big deal was—why not just ask them to buy apples?
But they never understood that those apples were the best ones in the world.
Even now, Will remembered them with a smile. He still couldn’t think of any apples that tasted better.
At the old skate park, Max had tried to teach him how to ride a skateboard while Lucas whistled and laughed from the sidelines. Will never really learned, but he collected plenty of scrapes and bruises along the way.
Max had also taught him how to properly clean a wound and wrap it with a bandage—tight enough to hold, but not so tight it hurt.
He still used that trick to this day. It had helped him—and other people—more than once.
When it snowed, they used to slide down that hill over there.
It would be nice to say they used sleds or snow saucers.
The truth was they were always too lazy to run home and get them, so they used their backpacks instead.
Afterward they’d have snowball fights, usually splitting into teams of two.
And Max?
Max always claimed she could beat all of them by herself.
Those nerds, she’d say.
And honestly, she was almost always right.
There was the kindergarten he used to go to. Even the swings were still there—rusty now, the paint peeling away.
Those were the same swings where he and Mike Wheeler had first met.
Back then their feet barely touched the ground. They would swing as hard as they could, trying to launch themselves higher than the sky, screaming ridiculous songs they made up on the spot.
And whenever one of them fell, the other would jump down immediately—to help, to comfort, or sometimes just to lie in the dirt together and laugh at their own clumsiness.
Now Will looked at those swings and wondered:
Did Mike ever think about that?
Or was it just childhood to him—something that ended and stayed in the past?
Mike…
Will shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. It had been almost three years since they’d last seen each other. He had grown out of that stupid teenage crush.
He had moved on.
At least he was supposed to.
So why did the mere thought that Mike might be somewhere around here—just around the corner—make something inside his chest tighten?
And this was where he used to walk at night with Eleven—Jane—secretly, behind Hopper’s back. Hopper would never have let her wander around town like that.
She had loved looking at the stars while Will told her about constellations—what they were called and where to find them.
She would close her eyes and imagine what the Big Dipper really looked like—not just dots in the sky, but a massive bear sleeping among the stars.
Sometimes Will would invent his own constellations, pointing to empty patches of sky.
“See that? That’s a dragon. And that one’s a mage… and her friend, the sorcerer.”
Jane would nod even though she couldn’t see them.
She just liked that Will tried so hard for her.
She used to smile so wide when she talked about how she wanted to go back to school—to learn as much as Will did.
Maybe even more.
Just to surprise him.
Oh, Jane…
His dear sister. His “twin,” as he used to jokingly call her.
Guilt gnawed at him for not visiting on her anniversary for so long. He had always found excuses, hiding behind stupid fears.
He was sure she would have been happy to know that he had finally achieved his dream.
She would have been proud of him.
Will pressed his lips together, holding back the tears threatening to rise.
Now was definitely not the time.
At least now he would have plenty of chances to visit her—to tell her everything that had happened to him all this time.
Eventually he reached the familiar porch at the edge of town.
The same old steps. The same peeling paint on the railing.
The flower pot Jane had once painted herself still stood beside the porch. The flowers were long gone, but the pot remained—faded, cracked, and strangely precious.
Will swallowed, took a deep breath, and knocked.
Footsteps hurried inside, and a moment later the door flew open.
Joyce Byers stood there.
“Will…”
A bright smile spread across her face, and she immediately pulled him into a tight hug—holding him as firmly as she possibly could.
Will didn’t hesitate for a second. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight, closing his eyes, allowing himself—if only for a moment—to forget the thoughts that had been tormenting him for so long.
Joyce smelled familiar—her perfume, something baked, and home. Will didn’t even know how to describe that smell, but it made him feel calmer almost instantly.
“I’m home,” he whispered softly, leaning down a little so it would be easier for his mom to hug him. He had long since grown taller than her.
“Welcome home,” said Jim Hopper from the doorway.
Will looked up at him and smiled gently, motioning for him to come over. As soon as the man stepped closer, mother and son pulled him into their embrace as well, and Hopper—like he had been waiting for exactly that—wrapped his arms around both of them.
Jim hugged them tightly; his large arms were more than enough for the two of them. For a second, it seemed to Will that Hopper let out a deeper breath than usual, as if he were holding something back. But a moment later the man pulled away and clapped him on the shoulder—hard, but kindly.
Yeah. That was definitely one of the main reasons he had come back to Hawkins.
When they finally let go, Joyce Byers stepped back just enough to look at her son properly. She brushed a hand over his cheek, her gaze lingering on his ear—and smiled.
“You’ve got an earring…” she said softly, almost with surprise. “And your hair… you look so different.”
Will instinctively ran a hand through his hair, now brushed back from his forehead. He used to hide behind his bangs all the time, as if trying to make himself smaller, less noticeable.
Not anymore.
“Well… New York,” he said with a small smirk.
Hopper gave him a careful once-over—the kind of look fathers have when they’re trying to hide how much they missed someone.
“Well, looks like you didn’t waste your time,” he said, glancing Will up and down. “You’ve grown up. And you dress different now. Used to be you walked around in those baggy sweaters, and now…” He grunted, briefly squeezing Will’s bicep through his leather jacket. “What, you been hitting the gym or something?”
“You could say that.”
Will did look more built than when he had left for college. The dorm where he lived had a free gym, and it would’ve been a crime not to use it. Besides, there had been someone there who worked out regularly and had managed to get Will into the habit too.
He hadn’t become some huge muscle guy—and he didn’t need to—but he had gained some muscle. He was clearly no longer the skinny kid anyone could push around.
Hopper grunted again, but there was something warm in his eyes. He held Will’s gaze a second longer than usual, as if checking that he wasn’t about to disappear again.
“Glad you’re back,” he said finally. His voice was a little rough, the way it always was when he tried not to get sentimental.
“Me too, Jim,” Will said, smiling at him the way he only did when he was truly happy.
He hadn’t expected to miss home and his family this much. Until this moment, it hadn’t felt quite so real.
When they finally stepped inside the house, Will paused in the doorway.
Everything looked almost exactly the same as it had three years ago—the same old couch, the same photographs on the walls, the same smell of his mom’s baking and coffee.
Only there were more photos of Eleven—Jane now.
And there was a new picture too: Will and Joyce at his graduation, wearing bright orange caps.
Joyce insisted that Will eat after the long trip (not that he resisted much), and the three of them sat down at the table.
“So… what’s the reason for your leave of absence?” Joyce asked gently as she poured him a glass of orange juice.
“Creative block, I guess you could call it,” Will replied, lowering his eyes as if afraid someone might catch him lying.
He was telling the truth—partially.
He really had been stuck. For months he hadn’t been able to pick up a paintbrush at all, and his missed assignments had started piling up. And when he did force himself to sit down and paint, the only things that came out were the same images that woke him up in cold sweats at night.
But there was another part of the story he didn’t want to talk about.
Even though the two were connected.
“A crisis is one thing, but dropping everything halfway through your third year?” Hopper said.
“Jim…” Joyce glanced at her husband and placed her hand over his in a calming gesture. “He didn’t drop out. He took an academic leave. He can go back whenever he wants.”
Hopper grunted, scratching his chin as he looked at Will for a long moment.
“Alright,” he said finally. “I won’t interrogate you. But keep this in mind—if this ‘crisis’ of yours has anything to do with you trying to deal with everything alone again, like in the good old days…” He trailed off, waving his hand dismissively. “You’re not alone. Got it?”
Will looked at him, warmth spreading through his chest.
He had almost forgotten what a wonderful family he had.
And the guilt for not visiting them for so long only grew stronger.
“Yes, but to be honest… I’m not sure I even want to go back.”
Will lowered his gaze to his plate, suddenly feeling like a kid again — like he still had to justify his decisions.
“Will, sweetheart, it’s okay,” Joyce said gently, smiling as she rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll figure things out while you’re here.”
Will looked up at her and smiled back, nodding softly.
“Are you going to visit Mike later?”
It was a perfectly normal question. Mike had once been his best friend, after all. But for some reason Will’s mouth suddenly went dry.
They still called each other sometimes — on Christmas, on birthdays, once or twice just because, usually when Will got drunk in his dorm and the loneliness became unbearable. But those conversations were always… empty.
“How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I’m fine too.”
And then silence would settle between them, the kind they both pretended not to notice.
Will had no idea what was actually happening in Mike’s life. All he knew was that Mike had gotten into a college in Hawkins and still lived here. And Mike knew about as much about Will.
It didn’t seem like either of them wanted to change that.
“No,” Will said, looking away again. “Well… yes. Just not today. Maybe tomorrow.”
A lie.
Will hoped he wouldn’t have to run into him at all. A rather hypocritical position for someone who had once considered Mike the closest person in the world.
But that was exactly the problem.
At one point Mike had been the center of his entire universe — and then, suddenly, it had all fallen apart. Will still remembered the feeling: looking at Mike and watching the world grow brighter, louder, more meaningful.
And then a day passed. Two. A week.
And you realized that light wasn’t meant for you anymore.
Or maybe it had never been.
Will had spent too long painfully getting over that loss to risk feeling it again — the way being near Mike could lift him to the heavens only to send him crashing back down.
Of course, he didn’t intend to avoid him forever. If they happened to run into each other on the street, he wouldn’t run away.
But he definitely wasn’t going to show up on Mike’s doorstep on purpose.
That was exactly why he had asked his mom not to tell Karen about his return. Karen would have told her son immediately.
And Will didn’t know what would hurt more: if Mike showed up at his door and those feelings came rushing back again… or if Mike learned he was back in town and simply chose not to come.
The second option would probably be more honest. At least then Will would know for sure that everything was over.
But the first one… the first one meant hope.
And hope, he had already learned, was the most dangerous feeling of them all.
Seeing the dark look on his face, Joyce decided to change the subject.
“Do you remember that job we talked about?”
Will blinked in confusion, then nodded as he remembered.
When they’d spoken on the phone not long ago and he told her about taking a leave from college, he’d mentioned he didn’t want to just sit around living off them. He said he’d get a job.
Joyce had replied that, as it happened, the school he used to attend was looking for an art teacher.
Will had laughed into the receiver back then.
As if they would hire someone without a teaching degree — someone without any completed degree at all.
He wasn’t even really an artist, if he was honest. Just a guy who could draw and had spent almost three years in a college he now seemed to have effectively dropped out of.
Who would need someone like that?
Apparently, his mother thought differently.
“I’ve already talked to them. If you want, I can call the principal right now and you can go in for an interview.”
“Mom… how?” Will raised his eyebrows at her.
“If your mom wants something, she gets it,” Hopper said with a smirk.
“I just talked to him. We’ve known each other for years, and he knows you too. Besides, it’s temporary, from what I understand. So… do you want to give it a try?”
“Well… if you’ve already arranged it… then sure. I’m not against it.”
“Great. Then finish eating and I’ll give him a quick call.”
After lunch, Will went to the room that used to belong to him and Jonathan. Now it looked more like a storage space where unnecessary things had been piled up — only partially cleared out for his return.
The old poster was still on the wall, covered with photos they’d taken together: Will, Jonathan, Mike, and the rest of the group.
Will’s gaze lingered on one of them.
He and Mike, arms slung around each other, both filthy after some muddy adventure — but grinning like idiots.
He quickly looked away.
It wasn’t surprising that the room had been empty all this time. Will had been in New York, and Jonathan was still in San Francisco with Nancy, where the two of them had enrolled in different colleges.
Unlike Will, though, Jonathan came home during holidays often enough to keep the room from gathering too much dust.
Even now, his presence could still be felt on his side of the room — a jacket draped over the back of a chair, a stack of books on the nightstand, a few cassette tapes beside the player.
As if he had just stepped out for a minute and would be back soon.
After a while Joyce knocked on the door to tell him that the principal was expecting him at four, once most classes and extracurricular activities were finished.
Will nodded — he still had plenty of time.
He decided to unpack a little.
He pulled a couple of T-shirts from his suitcase, hung his shirts in the closet, but his hands moved automatically. His thoughts were somewhere else.
On a shelf, exactly where he remembered them, stood the old superhero comics he and Mike used to devour together.
Will reached out, ran a finger along one of the spines — and jerked his hand back as if he’d been burned.
Deciding that was enough, Will lay down on the bed. He didn’t want to dig through the past anymore.
He stayed there until about three-thirty, half-heartedly sorting through things and trying not to think.
By four o’clock he was already standing in front of the school.
He paused at the entrance, staring at the painfully familiar building. His heart skipped for a moment — too many memories lived within those walls.
Good ones.
Bad ones.
And the ones he tried not to think about.
Over all these years the place hadn’t changed much — it had just been repainted in a slightly different shade.
Once upon a time they used to spill out of those doors in a noisy pack and race straight to Mike’s basement to play D&D, spending the entire school day inventing the story for their campaign.
Will took a deep breath and stepped inside.
There weren’t many people around — most were either heading home already or staying for after-school activities.
Out of habit, he quickly found the principal’s office and knocked.
The principal greeted him warmly.
Apparently Will had become something of a pride of the school — he had moved to New York and gotten into a rather prestigious college.
The principal spoke about it with such enthusiasm that it almost sounded like Will had won the Nobel Prize rather than simply gone away to study art.
Will nearly laughed.
The pride of the school.
If the principal knew that this very “pride” was currently on academic leave because he couldn’t even bring himself to pick up a paintbrush anymore — he probably wouldn’t be smiling like that.
But the principal didn’t know.
And maybe that was exactly why he didn’t hesitate long before agreeing to hire him.
The conversation went extremely well — it was hard to even call it an interview when they were basically ready to hire him already.
As it turned out, Mrs. Patterson — the previous art teacher Will himself remembered from his school days — had gone on maternity leave, and quite unexpectedly at that.
Hence the urgency in finding a replacement.
The principal didn’t even ask about Will’s grades or teaching qualifications — he simply nodded and signed papers.
They needed someone. Anyone with working hands who could more or less draw.
Will fit the role perfectly.
They discussed a few details, the paperwork, and of course the responsibilities of the job.
“The district will send a replacement in a couple of months, so for now — a temporary license, and welcome aboard.”
The principal led him to the classroom Will still remembered perfectly.
Inside, almost everything looked the same — the same tall windows, the same smell of paint and dust he remembered from childhood. Only the drawings on the walls had changed. The old ones were gone, replaced by new ones.
“It’s exactly how I remember it.”
“That’s good. Now it’s your workplace, so please keep it in the same good condition.” The man handed him the classroom key, and Will took it. “You can look around for a while. Just give the key to the security guard when you leave.”
“Got it.”
“Excellent. I think I’ve shown you everything you need to know. Tomorrow is your first working day. If anything comes up, ask your colleagues — I’m sure they won’t refuse to help.”
“Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
“I’ll take your word for it, Byers. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye.”
The principal left.
Will walked slowly around the classroom, checking what supplies were already there. Then he looked more carefully at the students’ drawings on the walls — some were clearly done with effort, others were frankly nonsense, but there was something alive in each of them.
He made a mental note of what the kids had already been working on, then left the classroom and locked the door behind him.
He walked down the empty hallway, looking around at places that felt painfully familiar.
For some reason he felt the sudden urge to stop by his old locker. Of course someone else used it now. Still — so many memories were tied to that small metal door.
Will ran his hand over it.
The same accidental scratch he’d made in seventh grade — when he and Lucas had been messing around and he’d hit the door with his key — was still there.
And his locker had always been right next to—
“Will…?”
Will froze the moment he heard the voice.
Low. Slightly raspy.
So familiar it knocked the breath out of him.
His heart skipped a beat and then started pounding somewhere in his throat, fast and painfully.
No. It couldn’t be.
What was he doing here? Why now, of all times?
A rushing sound filled his ears. For a moment Will couldn’t even make himself turn around — his fingers, still gripping the classroom key, trembled traitorously.
But standing there after someone called his name already felt strange.
So even though every instinct screamed at him to disappear, to sink into the floor, to become invisible — he turned around.
And damn it.
Maybe he shouldn’t have.
“Mike…?”
Standing in front of him was the same old friend he’d known for years — and yet something about him had changed.
Now he wore glasses — neat black frames that made his gaze look older, more serious.
His hair was slicked back more carefully, no longer the messy curls Will used to love. His clothes were different too — more classic, restrained. Instead of those ridiculous printed T-shirts, he wore a simple button-up shirt, fastened almost all the way to the top.
And he even seemed to slouch a little more than before, as if the weight on his shoulders had grown heavier.
But it was still Mike Wheeler.
His old best friend.
And his first hopeless crush.
They stared at each other for nearly half a minute, studying one another — each trying to find familiar features, to notice the differences, to understand how much had changed over the years.
Will even caught Mike’s gaze — behind those glasses — darting nervously over him. It lingered on his hair, slid down to the earring in his ear, then to his fingernails painted black.
“You came back…” Mike finally managed to say. His voice was lower than Will remembered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Will hesitated.
He had known this question would come. He had even prepared what to say.
But right now, looking into those brown eyes, he suddenly couldn’t remember any of it.
They were staring straight at him, and under that gaze every prepared phrase seemed to melt away.
“I just… wanted it to be a surprise,” Will said at last, forcing the words out, trying to sound convincing.
It sounded so pathetic he didn’t believe himself.
“I see,” Mike said.
And the way he said it made it sound like he truly accepted that ridiculous answer. As if he was willing to believe any nonsense right now — as long as it meant not digging deeper, as long as Will stayed.
Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. Opened it again.
“You…”
“Changed?” Will cut in, because he couldn’t keep listening to that voice without losing his mind. “You did too.”
“Yeah…” Mike seemed to lose every word at once. “But you, I think… changed a lot more.” He paused, as if gathering courage. “Did New York do that to you?”
“I guess it did,” Will tried to smile, but it came out crooked.
His lips didn’t seem to cooperate.
Mike stared at that crooked smile for too long.
Way too long.
And suddenly Will caught himself thinking that Mike was looking at him differently than he used to.
Or maybe Will had simply forgotten what it felt like to be the center of Mike’s attention.
Another heavy silence settled between them — thick, almost tangible. They just stood there, staring at each other as if neither of them quite believed the other was real.
Will shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Mike adjusted his glasses nervously.
“So… what are you doing here?” Mike finally broke the silence again. His voice sounded slightly hoarse, as if he too had forgotten how to breathe.
“At the school or in Hawkins in general?” Will tried to joke, tugging at the corner of his mouth, but it came out too strained and awkward. The tension between them only seemed to grow thicker.
Mike didn’t smile back.
He just kept looking at him — the same intense, unwavering stare.
“Both, actually.”
“I took a leave from college,” Will said, “and now I’m temporarily filling in for Mrs. Patterson.”
“Wait… what?” Mike took half a step closer, as if he hadn’t heard him right. “A leave from college and a job here?”
The moment Wheeler moved closer, Byers immediately felt everything inside him tighten.
He didn’t know what he wanted more — to take a step back, or to close the distance between them instead.
In the end, he decided that staying exactly where he was was probably the safest option.
Even though nothing about this felt safe.
“Yeah, that’s just how it turned out,” Will said, trying to brush the subject off. He even waved a hand casually, though his fingers were still trembling.
He forced himself to look back at Mike.
“What about you? What are you doing here?”
“I’m doing my practicum here,” Mike said, slipping his hands into his pockets — maybe to warm them, maybe just to give them somewhere to be. “Basically working as a teacher’s assistant.”
Will swallowed.
Right. Mike was studying to become an English teacher.
His mom had mentioned it once during one of their conversations, but Will had barely listened. Back then it had hurt too much to think about Mike building a life in the place Will had run away from.
And now that life was standing right in front of him.
And somehow, Will was part of it again.
It felt strange.
Like something that wasn’t supposed to happen anymore.
“So… that makes us colleagues now?” he breathed, trying to sound light.
Mike looked at him directly. Something flickered behind his glasses — a smirk? Sadness? Will couldn’t tell.
“That’s right,” Mike said quietly.
Will could feel his palms growing damp, his fingers trembling slightly, and his heart beating faster and faster — so loudly he was afraid Mike might actually hear it.
His chest felt tight, as if his ribs had suddenly decided to close in on him.
He caught himself thinking that one part of him was unbelievably happy to see Mike.
That part wanted to step closer, bury his face in Mike’s shoulder like he used to as a kid, wrap his arms around him and tell him everything — about New York, about the crisis, about the nights when he woke up drenched in cold sweat.
And ask about Mike too. How he was. What his life looked like now. What he was thinking while looking at Will like that.
But the other half of him was panicking.
He was scared.
Terrified of the fact that he had just come face to face again with the person he had loved so fiercely — the person with whom everything had ended so painfully.
But what Will hated most in that moment was himself.
Because the first half was slowly becoming louder.
It didn’t ask permission. It didn’t listen to reason.
It just kept growing, filling his chest with warmth that made him want to laugh and cry at the same time.
And that meant only one thing.
His feelings had never really stayed in the past, the way he had once believed.
They had been here the whole time.
Waiting to wake up again.