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Mike Wheeler should not be obsessing over this.
He knew that for sure. Like he knew you don't stick your fingers in an outlet — the experiment at age seven ended with Nancy freaking out and him getting banned from TV for a while. Like he knew El hates when people baby her — last time Hopper tried to make her wear a jacket because it was "too cold" at 59 °F, she just picked him up a meter off the ground and held him there for a minute. And like he knew Will Byers, before he says something that actually matters, always looks down first, like he's asking his beat-up shoes if it's okay.
And still.
Here he was, sitting on his bed, staring at a spot on the wall where he used to have gum stuck.
"He's just my Tammy."
Just.
My.
Tammy.
Mike snorted. He flopped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. Up there, between the little cracks in the paint he hadn't noticed in years (one of them, if you squinted really hard and tilted your head, kinda looked like Will's profile), there were no answers.
He had this feeling in his throat like something huge, planet-sized, had flown right past his face and he'd been too busy looking at… well, he didn't even remember what. Didn't matter.
He rubbed his hands over his face, hard, until he saw colors.
"Great, now you'll go blind too. Perfect. Just what the idiot of the year needs."
"It doesn't matter," he mumbled to his empty room. "At all. None. Zero."
Obviously, saying it out loud was just a lie to make himself feel better, but Mike would never admit that.
Will's whole speech at WSQK was stuck in his head. He remembered every breath, every time his voice cracked, every single word. Like someone recorded it and now Mike had to live with feelings he never knew what to do with.
Will had been sitting right next to him, all hunched over, but he talked loud enough for everyone to hear. He didn't mumble. He didn't run from it. He looked so… strong.
Mike remembered how his heart, which usually did what he told it to, just dropped into his stomach and did a backflip.
Because Will said it.
Because he didn't just hint, he said it out loud, in front of all those people — he was so brave.
And Mike just… accepted it. Like a best friend. He couldn't find the right words at the rink — his head was a mess and everything he wanted to say just… didn't come out. After they closed the Upside Down, when things started getting better, Mike tried to bring it up one night, but he ended up changing the subject and just patted Will on the shoulder — a move he immediately realized was one hundred percent stolen from his dad and meant "men don't cry, son."
He did everything by the book. "How to support a friend in need (and after) when you're a total emotional zero."
Did everything except one stupid thing.
He got stuck on one single name.
Tammy.
"Shit," Mike whispered, throwing off the blanket. He sat up, elbows on his knees. His head was buzzing. "Shit, shit, shit!"
He wasn't jealous. No way. Of course not. That would be insane, ridiculous, totally not Mike Wheeler.
You get jealous over your favorite comics, or a girlfriend… Will has the right to be in love. With anyone. A fantasy comic character with cool hair, or… well, some real live guy. That's… normal. Yeah. Sure. It’s part of being a normal person’s ordinarily life.
It's just that Mike desperately, to the point where his teeth hurt, wanted to know who this person was that Will talked about with so much feeling. Because even if he didn't know — his imagination, all trained up on apocalypse scenarios and D&D campaigns, would fill in the blanks. And it would do it like a blockbuster movie: some hot jock from high school (who probably plays guitar and drives a cool car), or some mysterious stranger, or even, God forbid, some super deep, sensitive version of Steve Harrington, and…
…Yeah, no. This was unbearable. Not knowing was the enemy. And you fight enemies in the most direct way possible.
Mike decided that.
Next day, after skipping half of physics (Mr. Clark was probably told he was sick (and definitely not because Wheeler was up till 5am going over every possible guy Will could be into)), Mike was in the school library.
The librarian looked at him over her glasses like he was returning a book that was three years late. He could've made up some excuse — history project (weak but okay), helping a teacher (lie), looking for a book about monkey reproduction (closer to the truth). But the lie just died in his throat. He mumbled something about a project and slipped past her into the archives.
He stood between the tall shelves with folders so dusty it looked like nobody had touched them since his parents went to school.
"This is insane," he muttered, already feeling a sneeze coming.
Mike Wheeler, the "heart" of the Party, was in the library digging through old files because he was too scared to just ask his best friend the truth.
So. Hawkins Middle School. Student Records. 1975–1985.
They were in high school now, but middle school seemed like a good place to start.
The folder was heavy. Mike opened it and dust went right up his nose. The papers inside were all crumpled, some had coffee stains, and the names were typed on an old typewriter with letters jumping all over the place.
He flipped through fast, like he was scared the librarian would catch him. Or worse, Will.
T…
Tom…
Tamara…
Tummy…
Tommy…
Tamm…
Tammy.
He stopped. His finger shook over the line.
"Okay," Mike whispered, leaning closer. "Alright. Let's get acquainted."
Tammy Thompson.
Class of 1981.
"What the hell?"
Mike stared at the name, feeling this weird wave inside — part disappointment, part stupid relief. He knew that last name. Everyone in Hawkins did. But… Tammy Thompson was… a girl.
Mike exhaled sharp, and dust flew everywhere.
"No. No, no, no," he muttered, flipping faster. "That's… not her. Can't be her."
He didn't know why he was so sure. It just didn't fit. And that thought hit him weird — this sudden sting deep inside. Like he'd just ruled out the wrong answer in a hard equation, but now the equation made even less sense.
Mike decided not to think about the fact that Will had a whole year in California without him, where some suspicious-stupid-jerk-idiot-creep named Tammy could've shown up. Obviously, he didn't want to just insult anyone, but if some guy likes Will, he's automatically a jerk who doesn't deserve him anyway.
He closed the folder with a thud and leaned his forehead against the cold metal shelf.
"You're such an idiot, Wheeler," he mumbled. "What were you even hoping for?"
Hoping there was some book in the library that listed every single person Will ever liked so he could… get rid of them. Or whatever.
But he didn't put the folder back right. Just shoved it somewhere in the middle, messing up the whole order. The librarian was definitely going to hate him.
Half an hour later, brushing dust off his jeans, Mike left the library. All he had was a headache and a million new questions buzzing in his head. The name "Tammy" was now some code he had to crack. And Mike hated puzzles when they were about people he… well, when they were about Will. Because with Will, getting it wrong could cost too much.
He was walking down the hall, trying to look normal and not like a complete weirdo, when he heard a voice.
"Hey, Wheeler! Dude, what's up?"
Mike jumped like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
Lucas was standing there, one eyebrow raised.
"Why are you so jumpy?" Lucas checked him out. "You look like a Demogorgon chewed you up. Just wanted to know if you're coming to the arcade with me and Dustin or if you're gonna keep playing the hermit, pining over I-don’t-know-what and I-don’t-know-why."
Mike opened his mouth to say "yeah, I'm coming," but something else came out.
"Um… Lucas."
Sinclair squinted. The same squint he used when rolling dice or trying to figure out his sister out.
"Damn," he said, and he already sounded like he was enjoying this. "I know you're about to ask something so weird we're gonna have to pretend this conversation never happened."
Mike felt dumb goosebumps. He hated when Lucas was right.
"Just answer, don't make anything up," he started, lowering his voice and staring at the fire extinguisher on the wall. "Do you know… anyone named Tammy?"
Silence. Total silence, even though the bell had just rung. Kids were everywhere but somehow they all missed them.
Lucas blinked. Then blinked again, slow, like an owl. Then his mouth twitched into a smile he was trying to hold back.
"You serious right now?" Lucas asked, voice all fake-calm.
"Yes!" Mike said too loud. A little kid walking past jumped. "Just answer. Yes or no."
Lucas slowly crossed his arms, like a judge about to give a verdict. He looked at Mike like he wasn't his best friend since forever, but like some really weird case.
"Do I know," he started, all dramatic, "anyone named Tammy?… Mike… why do you need this super important information?"
Mike felt his face get hot. He tried to look like he didn't care.
"Never mind. Just… curious."
"Curious," Lucas repeated, enjoying this way too much. And then his smile got huge — the kind that says "I know something you don't." "Oh, dude. Oh, Mike. If you haven't figured out who Tammy is yet, I'm not helping you. That would be… wrong."
"I'm trying to figure it out!" Mike snapped, his patience basically gone.
"Then keep trying," Lucas shrugged. "It's, you know, part of the process." He patted Mike on the shoulder. "Good luck. Keep us updated. I give you till next Wednesday to get to the final boss. Maybe longer, with your talent for looking right at something and seeing nothing."
And whistling, Lucas walked off, leaving Mike in the hallway feeling like he'd just failed the most important test ever and everyone — including that stupid fire extinguisher — already knew the answers.
Mike clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
"Great," he muttered. "Just great. Thanks, Sinclair. You're so helpful."
…
Next victim (conversation partner) was Dustin. Mike found him by the soda machines after school — everyone else had gone home, but Henderson was shaking one of the machines like it was his mortal enemy.
"It's stuck again," Dustin announced to the world (and Mike), not even looking at him. "I swear this machine hates me! My Coke…"
"Dustin," Mike said, cutting him off.
"If you're here to lecture me about something, get lost," Dustin said, finally turning around. His eyes went wide. "Oh. Your face."
"I've always had a face, Dustin."
"You did something bad and now you need help hiding it?"
Mike sighed. With Dustin, you couldn't beat around the bush.
"I need to ask you something. No jokes."
Dustin immediately got interested. He let go of the machine (and somehow the Coke finally dropped — he sighed in relief) and crossed his arms like a scientist ready for a report.
"Sure, man."
Mike took a deep breath. His heart was pounding.
"Do you… know anyone named Tammy?"
This time the pause was short.
Dustin's face went through about ten emotions: confusion, processing, realization, and then — pure joy. He laughed so hard he bent over, holding his stomach. Some girls walking past gave him dirty looks.
"Oh my god," he gasped, wiping his eyes. "Oh no. No way. You seriously… you seriously think there's some real guy named Tammy?"
Mike felt a wave of annoyance.
"Stop being a clown!" he hissed. "I'm just asking! Will said it, so I'm asking!"
"Mike," Dustin straightened up, still smiling. "Buddy. Let me, as an expert on how dumb you are, explain something. Will could say 'he's my Tammy' and mean anything. Maybe it's some character from a comic. It doesn't mean there's some guy in Hawkins named Tammy who eats toast and has no idea he's the center of Mike Wheeler's universe, who—"
"So you don't know?" Mike cut in, desperate.
Dustin's grin got even bigger.
"Oh, I know exactly who Tammy is."
Mike froze. His heart stopped for a second.
"Who?"
Dustin leaned in, looked around all secretive, and whispered:
"That, my dear blind friend, is something you have to figure out yourself. If I tell you, it's like spoiling the ending of a book you just started."
"You're making fun of me," Mike said flatly.
"A little," Dustin admitted, scratching his head. "But only because you're acting like a guy in one of those rom-coms my mom loves. The one who's obviously in love but walks around making theories and asking everyone instead of just looking in the mirror. Or, in your case, looking at Will."
Mike felt his ears burn.
"I don't… it's not…"
"Okay, okay," Dustin interrupted, finally opening his Coke. "Listen: start looking at what's right in front of you. For once." He took a long drink.
Mike didn't say anything. He just watched Dustin walk away, sipping his Coke, nodding goodbye.
Because inside, under all the annoyance, something new was starting to form. Something big and scary. It whispered to him, and it made him want to both run away and stay right there and finally listen.
The last straw was Max. He found her on the empty bleachers after school — looked for her for like seven minutes, hoping she was still there. She had her feet up on the bench in front of her, reading a "Transformers" magazine. Wheeler knew she was sad about not being able to play sports after her coma, and he didn't want to bother her, but…
"Max," Mike said. His voice echoed in the empty gym.
She didn't jump, just slowly looked up from her magazine. Her blue eyes looked… tired.
"If you're here for relationship advice," she said flat, "you already lost. Your total blindness doesn't give you a chance."
"I just need an honest answer," he said, sitting down a few feet away.
Safe distance.
"Oh," she closed the magazine. "Spit it out. Amaze me."
Mike took a breath. With Dustin and Lucas, there was at least some hope.
With Max, it was terrifying.
"Do you know anyone named Tammy?"
Mayfield blinked. Once. Then her mouth did this thing between a smile and disgust. She snorted.
"Yeah," she drawled. "So this is where we're at. Lucas told me."
"Where?" Mike asked, his voice cracking.
Max leaned back, hands behind her head.
"Mike," she said, not making fun of him for once. "You seriously don't get it?"
"Get what?!" he almost yelled.
"That Tammy is you. That your dumb brain built a whole system so you wouldn't have to see what's obvious."
Mike felt the ground disappear under him, even though he was sitting on solid wood. His brain tried to process it, but her words just bounced around inside his head.
"That's…" he swallowed. "That's not funny, Max."
"I'm not joking," her voice got softer, but not weak. "I never joke about stuff like this. You're either the biggest idiot in Hawkins, or a coward. Probably both. You're scared. Scared that if it's true, everything changes. That you'll have to feel something and do something about it. That you won't be 'normal'."
"He would've said," Mike whispered, trying to defend himself. "If it was… like that. He would've told me."
Max looked at him for a long time. In her eyes, usually so sharp, there was something sad.
Not for him. For Will.
"He did," she said quietly. "You just didn't want to hear it."
Her words hit like a doctor giving a diagnosis.
…
Later, in the evening, with the sun going down and Hawkins getting dark, Mike stood outside the Byers-Hoppers house.
He didn't plan to come here.
His legs just brought him, like something else was controlling them. He didn't know what he'd say. He only knew: if he didn't talk to Jonathan now — the person who knew Will longer and better than anyone — he wouldn't sleep. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Maybe never. And he'd never be able to look at Will the same way — which was the scariest thing possible.
Warm light was on in the windows, making soft shadows on the curtains. A TV was on inside — he could hear laughter from some show. Mike stood on the porch for a few extra seconds, listening to his own heart. He didn't know what he was waiting for. That nobody would answer? That they'd tell him to go away?
But when he knocked, the door opened right away, like they were expecting him.
"Mike?"
Jonathan Byers looked like he always did — tired, a little distant. Old t-shirt, messy hair, but his eyes were sharp.
He looked Mike up and down fast — the kind of look from someone who learned young how to read a room — and immediately knew something was up.
"Um… hey," Mike said, voice all rough. "I… if you're not busy, can we talk? For a minute?"
Jonathan nodded, no questions. Stepped back to let him in.
"Yeah. Come in."
Inside, everything was familiar and weird at the same time. New house, bigger family, but it still smelled like the Byers — coffee, candles, something he couldn't name.
Mike walked into the living room, looking at photos on shelves and Will's drawings on the wall, then stopped awkwardly in the middle, not knowing what to do with his hands. He felt huge and clumsy.
"Mom and Hopper are on a date, Jane is at Max's house, Will's in his room doing homework," Jonathan said, like he knew exactly what Mike was worried about. "Don't worry."
That just made Mike feel worse.
Because he was worried. More than ever.
They sat down — Jonathan in the armchair, Mike on the edge of the couch. A few seconds of silence stretched out forever. Mike stared at the carpet pattern, trying to escape from himself.
"I…" he started, then stopped. Same weak sound he'd made all day.
Jonathan just waited. Didn't rush him. Just sat there, which was actually kind of calming.
"I'm about to ask the dumbest question in human history," Mike finally forced out, looking up. "Dumber than you can imagine. Please just… answer. Don't ask why."
Jonathan tilted his head. Almost smiled.
"Good start. I won't laugh, promise."
Mike tried to smile back, but it didn't last.
"You…" he swallowed. "Jonathan, do you know anyone named Tammy?"
He expected anything.
Surprise. Confusion. Annoyance.
But Jonathan just looked at him. Long. Careful. Not judging. Like he was putting together puzzle pieces Mike had just dumped on the floor.
"Why are you asking?" Jonathan finally said.
Mike shrugged, all nervous.
"Remember, back at the WSQK… Well. Will mentioned it. And now…" he waved his hand, trying to explain the chaos in his head, "now I can't stop thinking about it."
Jonathan leaned back slowly, arms crossed. He looked past Mike, like he was remembering something.
"And you thought I'd know," he said. Not a question.
"You know Will better than anyone," Mike said firmly. "Always have. Even when… even when the rest of us didn't see stuff, you did. Right?"
It was true.
And Jonathan knew it. He nodded.
"Mike," he finally said, looking right at him. "I can't tell you who Tammy is."
Mike's heart did that familiar "drop into his stomach" thing.
"Because… you don't know?" he whispered.
"Because it's not something I can just tell you," Jonathan said calmly. "It's Will's truth. And, I'm starting to think, yours too."
Mike frowned, confused again.
"I don't get it."
"I know," Jonathan said softly. "And if I just told you… you wouldn't believe it, or you'd get scared and run. Because it would be too easy. And something real… it needs honesty. Especially with yourself."
He paused, letting that sink in, then added quieter:
"And Will… He spent so long in a world where people either ignored his feelings or pretended they didn't exist. He was always scared they'd be used against him. So he hid who he really was for a long time."
Mike clenched his hands until his nails dug in.
"I… I would never use anything against him. I never wanted him to hide anything."
"I know," Jonathan cut in. "You never meant to hurt him. But sometimes, Mike, not meaning to isn't enough."
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, looking Mike right in the eyes.
"Listen. Think about everything he's ever said to you — read between the lines. Think about how he looks at you when he thinks you're not watching. How he is with you, compared to how he is with others. Think about your own feelings, the ones you buried deep because they felt wrong. Think about — hint — the painting he gave you in the van. And you'll get the answer. The only one."
Mike opened his mouth to say he'd already tried, that he'd been going crazy over this, that he'd asked everyone and dug through files… and closed it. Because he got it. Jonathan was talking about looking inside.
The one place Mike was too scared to look.
"What if I'm wrong?" he whispered.
Jonathan smiled sadly.
"Then at least you tried to be honest. With him, and with yourself."
Mike nodded slowly. Jonathan's words gave him something to stand on… but it was still terrifying to actually go there.
"Thanks," he said, and it came out so sincere it hurt.
"Sure," Jonathan said, walking him to the door. And at the doorstep, when Mike was about to leave, he added: "Oh, and Mike…"
"Yeah?"
Jonathan looked at him again. Mike had never seen that look from Will's brother before — kinda protective, maybe? He always thought Jonathan didn't really like him.
"He's never fallen for anyone who didn't see the real him. Remember that."
Those words stayed with Mike as he walked into the cool night. They rode with him on his bike through the dark Hawkins streets, they stayed with him when he went to bed, and for the first time in forever, he couldn't sleep not because of anxiety, but because of… work.
Inner work. The kind he actually needed to do.
…
And Mike started noticing.
It was the most painful and the most beautiful thing that had happened to him in years. He started noticing stuff he'd either ignored on purpose or just called "Will stuff" or "best friend stuff."
He noticed how Will looked at him when he thought Mike was busy with something else. Warm, a little sad, full of so much love and devotion it made it hard to breathe.
He noticed how Will's shoulders, usually kinda hunched like he was waiting for something bad, would relax when Mike came and stood next to him. Like his presence was a shield.
He noticed little things.
How Will always turned toward him, even in a crowd, like he was always choosing Mike.
How his fingers would reach toward Mike's sleeve when he saw a spot, but never touch — just hover in that weird space between "allowed" and "not allowed."
How he remembered the smallest stuff Mike said — his pizza order, that he never ate the crust; how he always got cold but never dressed warm enough (so Will carried an extra scarf to share); that Mike always picked the blue sleeping bag at sleepovers; that he tapped his fingers on the table when he was thinking hard — and Will would remember all of it weeks later, which always amazed Mike and made his heart do stupid things.
But he always told himself it was nothing. Just their friendship. That Lucas, Dustin, and Max liked drama. That Max was projecting her stuff. That Dustin lived in movie-land. That Lucas saw everything through his relationship with Max.
But every time he said "it's nothing," it sounded more fake. It kept hitting reality.
He tried to act normal. Made jokes, bad ones sometimes. Talked about school, exams, summer plans. Discussed "Star Wars" and made theories about their D&D world.
And every time Will smiled back — he knew it was for him. Something inside Mike would clench and unclench.
Such a stupid feeling.
He remembered stuff from the past. When they were thirteen, after a long hot day playing in the basement, they sat on Mike's porch drinking lemonade and their hands accidentally touched. And Mike caught himself not wanting to move his hand away. He wanted to cover Will's hand with his own, keep touching longer than friends should. But he freaked out, buried it. Told himself it was just fear of losing his best friend.
Now those memories were coming together.
Like a puzzle he was finally putting together, already knowing what the picture would be.
And when he finally figured it out,
it was a breath,
long and deep and freeing, a breath he'd apparently been holding for years.
Tammy was him.
The name he'd hidden behind, the truth too big to say out loud. A way to say "I love you" without saying those scary words. A code for the most important feeling in his life. A code that only he, Mike Wheeler, could crack. Or, more accurately, that he'd refused to crack for so long.
Mike sat up in bed in the middle of the night, face in his cold hands. Quiet room, just the clock ticking, counting seconds in his new reality.
"Shit," he whispered into his hands. "Oh, shit. So that's it."
He was in love with Will Byers.
Always had been.
Ever since he knew what "in love" meant. It just felt so… natural that he thought it was just friendship. The best kind.
And Will… Will was in love with him. For a long time, probably. And he was brave enough to give it a name. Even if it was in code.
The relief of figuring it out didn't make him feel peaceful.
The opposite.
Mike always thought understanding was the finish line. That you catch the truth and then everything just falls into place.
But the truth was tricky. It didn't let go. It sat in his chest and made every breath feel heavier. Every move felt more important.
He understood — and now he couldn't stop thinking. The thoughts weren't chaotic anymore, they were a chain:
"What now?", "What do I feel?", "What does he feel?", "What do I say?", "How do I say it?", "What if…".
He understood — and now every look from Will, every smile, every move meant a hundred times more. Not just friendly signals anymore, but words in a book he'd finally learned to read. And reading was scary and amazing at the same time.
In the morning, Mike woke up before his alarm — like 5am. He lay there, staring at the ceiling where that crack that looked like Will now felt like a sign, trying to remember the last time he felt so… uncertain.
Not scared — there was fear, yeah. But uncertain. Like everything depended on him saying the right thing.
At breakfast, his mom talked about school, weekend plans, needing milk. Mike nodded, poked at his cereal, heard nothing. His mind was somewhere else. Where Will lived with his truth.
If I'm wrong… but I'm not wrong.
Jonathan's right.
Everyone's right.
I'm such an idiot.
If I'm wrong — I'll ruin everything.
If I'm right — I could ruin everything too.
That thought followed him all the way to school.
Will was at his desk, notebooks and books all neat. He looked… calm. Even a little more relaxed than the last few days.
Which made Mike feel even worse.
Because now he saw that calm was fragile, like thin ice. He saw the little tension at the corners of his mouth, the careful look Will gave him when he walked in.
"Hey," Mike said, trying to wipe the panic off his face and smile normal. It probably looked awful.
"Hey," Will said. And smiled. That smile.
Mike felt something flip inside.
"How are you?" he asked too fast, totally giving himself away. He never asked that.
Will blinked, surprised. His eyebrows went up.
"Fine," he said after a second. "You? You look… awake."
"Me? No… I mean… Yeah, yeah… just… slept good!" Mike lied, sitting down so loud the girl in front turned around and shushed him. "Slept great."
Silence.
Mike caught himself not just looking at Will, but studying him. How he held his pen — three fingers, careful. How he bit his lip when thinking. How he doodled in his notebook and erased it after class.
Little things he'd always seen. They just used to be background.
Now everything felt different.
"I'm so scared to actually do something about this."
After school, Mike didn't go straight home. Sent Holly off alone.
He walked around Hawkins, running through scenarios in his head.
Dozens of them. But… like in D&D — when you're at a choice point and you know: whatever you do now, you can't undo it.
Too direct ("Hey, I know Tammy is me and I love you too") — too much. He could freak Will out, make him shut down or think it was a joke.
Too vague ("Um, we should talk… I've been thinking…") — also bad. Cowardly. After everything Will trusted him with, he couldn't do half-measures.
He didn't want a big scene. Not like Will's public thing. He probably couldn't be that brave anyway…
Mike knew: if he made a move — and he had to, or he'd lose his mind — it had to be safe.
For both of them.
Quiet. Honest. Leave Will room to back out if he needed to.
Because Mike could see that fear now too.
…
They ended up alone together three days later, almost by accident.
That was the plan, anyway. Mike told Dustin that El wanted to go to the movies with him but was too shy to ask. Dustin ran off to find her. Mike casually suggested Lucas and Max check the arcade for new games.
Worked.
Half an hour later, he and Will were alone in the Byers' living room, where everyone had been hanging out.
They sat on the old couch, a respectful distance apart.
Will was flipping through his old sketchbook — worn out, corners bent, the one with Demogorgons and friends and landscapes from his imagination.
"You can look, if you want," Will said quietly, not looking up. "I was going through stuff and saw some unfinished pages, so… there's new stuff."
Mike moved closer.
Not right next to him, but closer.
He watched silently, turning pages.
Sketches of flowers — probably ones Bob gave his mom. Little comics, not connected. Will's dead dog, which they'd both been sad about. Old stuff. The new stuff had more color, more feeling — his drawings had grown up.
…Mike saw it. How his style changed. Before, there was something stiff about them. Now the lines were braver.
"You draw different now," Mike said, finger stopping over a picture of a fantasy forest where the light seemed to come from inside the leaves.
"Different — is that bad?" Will asked, still not looking, but Mike felt him tense up.
"No," Mike said fast. "No, no, I mean… more honest. Like you're letting yourself out. God, that sounds dumb!"
Will froze. Stopped breathing for a second. Then let it out slow.
"Honest," he repeated, like he was tasting the word.
Silence again.
"Mike," Will finally said, putting the sketchbook down. "You've been… weird lately. Last few days, actually."
He said it like it hurt. Like he was scared to ask but couldn't not ask.
"I know," Mike admitted. He couldn't pretend anymore. "Sorry. I've been… thinking a lot."
Will turned toward him, legs tucked under him. Looking at Mike with that attention that always made Mike feel seen.
Really seen.
"About what?" Will asked. "You know you can talk to me about everything, right? We're best friends."
Mike hated his old self for saying "best friends" at the radio tower.
It was hard to answer.
Mike was always like this — think too long, let fear get huge, then have to fight it with armor. But this time he knew: if he waited again, if he chose silence, he wouldn't just be lying to Will — he'd be betraying him.
His heart was pounding in his throat. Hands sweaty. He felt like he was on the edge of the highest cliff in Hawkins again, about to jump into nothing, but this time no El was coming to save him.
"A lot," he said, swallowing. "But… there's one thing I can't stop thinking about. But I… don't want to… push."
Will looked at him.
"Please tell me."
"I…" Mike swallowed again. Mouth so dry. "For a long time, I didn't get what you meant. Honestly, I acted like such an idiot. A stupid, hopeless idiot."
Will gave this short, nervous laugh. Sounded rough.
"That's… not news," he whispered, but his voice was soft: he still didn't know what Mike was talking about.
Mike smiled a little, then got serious.
Say it now, he thought. Or never.
"Will…"
Will looked up right away. Like always. He always looked at Mike when Mike said his name.
"Yeah?"
Mike moved closer without thinking. Fingers twisting in his sweatshirt.
"I…" he stopped, breathed out through his nose. "I keep thinking that if I say it wrong, I'll mess everything up."
Will frowned a little.
"You can't mess anything up, Mike. We're best friends. I'll always ready to listen to anything you’re thinking."
Mike snorted softly.
"I know. It's just…" He looked up, right into Will's green eyes. "When you said that thing about Tammy," he started slow, "I thought it was just a name. Someone I didn't know. And for some reason, I felt… bad."
He paused, checking if Will would stop him. He didn't.
"And I lived with that… for two months, maybe more. The other day I was running around school," Mike went on, "digging through files, asking everyone. Like it was a math problem. Like if I found the right answer, everything would make sense." He shook his head. "But really, I was just scared."
"Of what?" Will asked quietly.
Mike didn't answer right away.
"Scared that you picked someone else. And even more scared that I'd known the truth the whole time but was hiding it from myself."
He swallowed.
"Because if Tammy is me… then that means I also…" he stopped again, frustrated, breathed out, and forced himself to keep going: "…that I feel it too. Have for a long time."
The room got so quiet. Even the house seemed to hold its breath.
"I wasn't ready," Mike said. "When you moved away at fourteen, I couldn't get over it for so long. I told myself it was just habit, that you were my best friend, that it was normal. I really tried to bury it." He raised his hands, like admitting defeat. "Didn't work."
Will went pale.
"Mike…"
"Wait," Mike said softly. "Please. Let me finish."
He took a deep breath.
"Eventually I figured out that Tammy is me."
Silence.
"You don't have to say anything," Mike added fast, scared the silence meant shock, rejection, horror. "And… and if I got it all wrong, if I'm just an idiot who made up a whole universe in his head, then… I'll deal with it. I swear. I just wanted you to know. That I…" he hesitated, looking for the word, "that I feel the same. That I, probably, always have. I was just too blind… or too cowardly to admit it. I tried to drown it, tell myself it was wrong, that it would pass, that it was just fear of losing you as a friend…"
The silence stretched, and Mike added one last thing:
"It didn't pass."
He saw Will's face go pale, his eyes get huge, full of disbelief and this tiny bit of hope.
His voice broke. He looked at Will, and his eyes were wet.
"It didn't pass, Will. It just got stronger."
Will's eyes were wet too. His hands were clenched on his knees, knuckles white.
He looked like he wasn't breathing.
"You're… serious?" he whispered, and Mike's heart hurt.
"Yeah," Mike said simply.
Yeah.
Will shook his head, like he couldn't believe it.
"I…" he breathed, and the first tears fell. He didn't even wipe them. "You… you got it right."
He squeezed his hands tighter, like he was afraid he'd shatter.
"I just… I never thought you'd ever… I never hoped you'd say it. Ever."
Mike felt something huge that had been sitting in his chest for years just crumble.
He moved closer. Slow, giving Will time to pull back if he wanted. But Will didn't move. Just sat there, watching.
"I'm sorry you had to wait," Mike said quietly. He didn't care if his voice shook anymore. Let it shake. "And I'm so sorry if I ever, even once, made you feel like you were alone. Like your feelings were wrong, or something to hide."
Will dropped his head, tears falling on his hands.
"You never did it on purpose," he said, voice all choked up.
Mike carefully, so slowly, reached out and touched his shoulder. Through his shirt, he could feel how tense he was.
"I'll always be here for you," Mike said, and those were the most important words he'd said all day.
He waited. Let Will choose. Whatever happened next had to be something they both wanted.
Will looked up. Face wet, eyes red, but the fear was gone.
"Mike…" he stopped, swallowed. "Can I… can I hug you?"
Mike didn't answer. Just opened his arms.
Will practically fell into them, face against his shoulder, and his whole body shook with sobs he'd been holding back. But it wasn't pain — it was relief. Tears he'd been saving for years. Mike held on tight, felt Will's shoulders shaking under his hands. He pulled him close, closed his eyes, and just held him. Breathed with him. Let him cry, and didn't hold back his own tears either.
They stayed like that until the sobs stopped, turned into shaky breaths, then silence. Will didn't pull away. Just stayed there, pressed against Mike, and Wheeler felt so good.
"I'm here," Mike whispered again, rubbing his back.
Slowly, Will relaxed. His grip loosened, but he didn't let go. Finally he pulled back slow, grabbed a tissue from the table, wiped his face, looking embarrassed.
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"Don't apologize," Mike said right away. "Never apologize for this. Can I…" Mike hesitated, "I want to kiss you so bad. Can I kiss you?"
Will looked up. Smiled — like he'd been waiting his whole life to hear that.
He nodded, barely.
But Mike saw.
He didn't lean in right away — like he was giving Will one more chance to change his mind.
His hand rested nearby, pinkies almost touching. Heart pounding so loud he was sure Will could hear it.
He leaned in slow. Unsure.
Their lips touched barely — more breath than kiss.
Mike froze. It wasn't like anything before. No flash, no dizzy feeling — just warmth.
Will moved first. Barely. But it made the kiss real. His lips pressed soft against Mike's, and Mike felt something inside him relax — like tension he'd carried for years just let go.
He kissed back, just as careful.
His hand slowly lifted, hovered — Will didn't move away. So Mike touched his cheek, light, with his thumb.
Will breathed out against his lips.
That sound went through Mike like electricity.
The kiss got a little deeper — Will was awkward, hesitating when Mike got more intense — but still gentle.
Mike realized he was smiling only when he felt Will smiling into the kiss too — awkward, real, almost like a kid.
Wheeler opened his eyes first. He didn't move his hand — fingers still touching Will's cheek, like checking he was really there.
Will sat still. Cheeks pink, breathing uneven. He looked right at Mike, like he couldn't believe this was happening.
"You okay?" Mike asked softly.
Will nodded. Then nodded again, more sure.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm just… not used to this."
Mike smiled a little.
"We can stop. Or take a break," he shrugged. "I'm not in a hurry."
True.
First time in forever he wasn't in a hurry.
"You really…" Will hesitated. "You really won't change your mind?"
That hit harder than any confession.
Mike felt something clench — not from pain, but from realizing how many times Will must've asked himself that. About people, feelings, whether you can believe good things.
"No," Mike said right away. "I won't change my mind."
He leaned a little closer, not touching, just closing the space.
"And if you ever get scared, or think I might… leave," he swallowed, "just tell me. I'd rather explain a hundred times than let you doubt."
Will breathed out.
"I'm not used to it," he admitted. "Being chosen."
Mike slowly, so carefully, took Will's hand. Gave him his warmth.
"I've been choosing you for a long time," he said. "I was just too dumb to know what it meant."
Will laughed quietly.
"You were always a little like that."
"Hey," Mike snorted. "Only kind of?"
Will smiled bigger, without the stiffness. Squeezed Mike's fingers back.
They sat like that for a while.
"Mike," Will said quietly.
"Hmm?"
"You're not mad?" he asked. "At me. For not saying it straight."
Mike shook his head.
"I'm mad at myself for taking so long to get it."
He paused, then added:
"And, honestly… I'm glad you said it how you could. Even if it was weird."
"Tammy?" Will asked, awkward.
"Yeah," Mike laughed. "Tammy."
Will looked down, but not ashamed — just a little embarrassed.
"I just… couldn't say your name," he admitted. "I felt like if I did, then… everything would break."
Mike squeezed his hand again.
Will looked at their hands. Then back at Mike.
"Can we… again?" he asked soft.
Mike smiled.
"Yeah."
This time the kiss was a little more sure. Still gentle, still careful, but without that pause before, without the "am I doing this right?" Will leaned in himself, and Mike felt the last tension leave his shoulders.
When they pulled apart, Will rested his forehead on Mike's shoulder.
"You know," Will said after a bit, "I always thought if this happened… it would be scarier."
"And now?" Mike asked.
"And now," Will smiled, not moving his head, "I feel calm."
Mike closed his eyes.
That was all they needed.
They didn't talk for a while.
Not because there was nothing to say — words just weren't needed. Will sat next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and it felt weird and right.
Mike thought that happiness was silence where someone chooses you.
"You staying over?" Will asked quietly, not looking at him.
Mike didn't even think about whether his mom would say yes.
"Yeah."
---
The key turned in the lock louder than it should have.
That sound that never meant anything good.
Will and Mike both looked up.
"…Did you lock the door?" Mike whispered.
"Yeah," Will whispered back. "I always lock it."
The door still opened.
"Joyce, I'm telling you," Hopper's voice came, "if he's—"
"Jim," Joyce cut in, "you said you wouldn't start."
"I'm not starting. I'm just ready."
They walked in together. Hopper with grocery bags. Joyce with her warmest smile.
And stopped.
One of the bags tipped dangerously.
"…" said Hopper.
"…" said Joyce.
Mike and Will were sitting close. Too close for "just friends." Will leaning against the couch, Mike next to him, knees touching. They were trying hard to hide that the door opening had interrupted another kiss. Turns out tasting each other was too interesting to stop.
And — of course — their hands.
Hopper slowly put the bags down.
"Wheeler," he said, real calm. "Why are you here."
"We…" Mike started.
"Jim," Joyce said.
"No," Hopper held up a hand. "Wait. I want to hear how he explains this."
Mike swallowed.
"We were talking."
"Sure," Hopper nodded. "And the hands? And your tomato faces?"
Will looked at his mom for help.
"It's… also a form of talking."
Joyce put her hand over her mouth.
"Oh."
Hopper closed his eyes.
"Jim," Joyce said softly. "Look at them."
"I'm looking," he grumbled. "I don't like what I see."
He looked at Mike again.
"You."
"Sir?"
"You again."
"I didn't mean to!"
"You never mean to," Hopper muttered.
Joyce stepped closer.
"Will?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah, Mom?"
"Are you happy?"
Will nodded. No hesitation.
"Yeah."
She smiled.
"Then," she said, "that's all we need to know."
"What?!" said Hopper.
"Jim," Joyce turned to him. "He's happy. And Mike's a good kid."
"He was a bad influence on my daughter."
"But he's trying to make up for it with my son."
Hopper sighed heavy, rubbed his face.
"Okay," he said. "Fine."
Fine.
He pointed at Mike.
"But you."
"Yes, sir."
"If you break his heart—"
"I won't—"
"I'll find you," Hopper went on. "Even if you move. Even if you go to college in other city. Even if you change your name."
"Hop!" Joyce said sharp.
"Okay, okay!" He waved it off. "Figuratively."
Will laughed quietly.
Hopper looked at him. Sighed.
"God. You really are happy."
"Yeah."
"Then…" he paused. "Then fine."
He turned to Mike.
"But the couch is not for your romance."
"What?!" Mike protested.
"It's my couch."
"Jim," Joyce rolled her eyes.
"And another thing," Hopper continued, "when are you gonna leave my kids alone?"
"I'm not bothering them!" Mike blurted.
Joyce cracked up.
Hopper rolled his eyes.
He turned and went to the kitchen.
Came back a couple minutes later with a piece of paper.
Torn from some old notebook.
"No," Mike said right away. "No, no, no."
"Shut up, Wheeler," Hopper cut him off. "I haven't even started."
Joyce looked at the paper.
"Jim… what's that?"
"Rules," he said, looking like a man finally in control. "Since this is… official."
"This is NOT official," Mike mumbled.
"It WILL BE now," Hopper said.
He cleared his throat.
"Rule number one," he began. "No kissing in common areas."
"Which ones?" Will asked quietly.
"All of them," Hopper replied. "Living room, kitchen, hallway, bathroom—"
"Bathroom?!" Mike yelled.
"I don't wanna know AT ALL," Hopper said. "Hence the rule."
Joyce pressed her fingers to her head.
"Jim…"
"Rule number two," he went on. "Will's door — always open like three inches."
"But I always close my door," Will said.
"NOT ANYMORE," Hopper snapped.
Mike looked like he wanted to ask something but thought better of it.
"Rule number three," Hopper pointed the paper at Mike. "You."
"Me?" Mike squeaked.
"You. No more 'stayed till 2am'."
"But we usually just talk!"
"DON'T CARE," Hopper said. "I know what people in relationships do at night. At night, you go sleep in your own house."
"That's cruel," Mike muttered.
"That's parenting."
Joyce couldn't help it.
"Jim, you know they're teenagers, right?"
"Exactly," Hopper said. "Hence the rules."
He looked at the paper.
"Rule number four…" he squinted. "Hmm."
"You're making these up right now, aren't you?" Will asked.
"Of course," Hopper admitted. "Safer that way."
Mike giggled nervously.
"Rule number four: if you, Wheeler, come here, eat our food—"
"What the hell?!"
"Then you do the dishes."
"I already did them once!"
"Not enough."
Joyce laughed.
"Jim," she said gently, "you realize this sounds like you just don't want Mike living here?"
Hopper looked at Mike.
Mike sat up straight.
"I'm not gonna live here with this old man anyway!"
"For now," Hopper muttered.
Will laughed softly.
"More rules?" he asked.
Hopper sighed. Lowered the paper.
"One more," he said quieter.
Everyone froze.
"If either of you feels bad. Scared. Confused," he cleared his throat. "You say so. I'm not a mind reader."
Will looked at him carefully.
"Okay."
"And you," Hopper added, looking at Mike. "If he ever feels bad because of you—"
"I won't let that happen," Mike said right away.
"I hope so," Hopper grumbled.
He folded the paper in half.
"That's it. You're free."
"Does that mean…?" Mike asked careful.
"That means," Hopper said, "I'm grumbling. And that, unfortunately, is my version of 'I don't mind'."
Joyce came over and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Mike," she said soft. "Wanna stay for dinner?"
"Yes, Mrs. Byers," he said instantly.
"We're having lasagna."
"I love lasagna," Mike said, too sincere.
Hopper sighed.
"Of course you do."
A bit later, after Hopper's strict but okay and Joyce's happy looks let them go up to Will's room to finally be alone.
"He…" Byers started and laughed. "He actually wrote that down."
"He'll write more," Mike said sure. "One hundred percent. You okay?" he asked.
Will nodded.
"Yeah. Just…" he shrugged. "Weird. Didn't think they'd find out so fast."
Mike stepped closer.
Then another step.
Stopped so close he could feel Will's breath.
"Can I?" Mike asked.
Will didn't even answer, just nodded, and Mike carefully took his wrist and gently pressed him against the wall. Not hard — more like he wanted to make sure Will wouldn't disappear.
The kiss on his neck was sudden and so soft. Quick. Then another, lower. Mike breathed out against his skin, and Will closed his eyes, feeling shivers down his back.
"You know…" Mike whispered, not pulling away. "Know what I love more than lasagna?"
Will smiled, eyes still closed.
"No idea."
Mike lifted his head, touched his forehead to Will's.
"You," he said simple. "I love you."
Will opened his eyes.
And right then, there was no Hopper, no rules, no weird unspoken stuff.
Just Mike.
His voice. His hands. His eyes.
"I know," Will whispered. "I love you too."
Mike smiled like he'd been waiting his whole life to hear that.
And this time, kissing him, he didn't rush.